


Wake Up, Dreamers

by penpenhooray



Series: Wake Up Series [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Feels, Force-Sensitive Finn, Force-Sensitive Hux, Hux and Ben have so much shit to deal with, Jedi Hux, Keshian Mitaka, Knights of Ren - Freeform, M/M, Padawan Rey, Redemption, Reunions, Spy - Freeform, defecting First Order officers, sniper Mitaka, spy hux
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2018-06-01 11:14:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 48,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6516151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penpenhooray/pseuds/penpenhooray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Braeda always dreamed of the day he could be free of the identity of General Hux, the day he and Ben would be reunited, of the day he finally returned home, that they could return to the love they once had.</p><p>Ben never in his wildest dreams thought that Braeda had been alive all this time, or that he could still love him after the monster he became.</p><p>Lieutenants Mitaka and Rodinon, as well as Petty Officer Thanisson, had thoroughly believed in the dream of the First Order, that peace could be achieved through order, and that they were serving a noble cause.</p><p>But like all dreams, the dreamers must wake up. And a woken dreamer has a choice: cling to the dream and ignore the day, or face the morning and its harsh realities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, it's finally here! I can't tell you all how hard I thought on this, trying to figure out how I wanted to start this fic off! I do hope it meets everyone's expectations.

The snowstorm had all but died down to silence on Ilum’s surface, though in its wake, all evidence of any previous activity had long been erased by the  torrent of snowfall, leaving the landscape under a blanket of undisturbed white. Had any living being been around to observe the scene, they would have been none the wiser about the duel of fates that had taken place not yet an hour into the past.

 

The silence was soon disturbed by the low hum of a lone TIE fighter, skimming mere meters above the ground before landing gracefully and making its home in the fresh snow. For a small eternity, only the sound of the TIE’s cooling engine could be heard by absent ears.

 

Then the TIE’s hatch opened slowly, allowing its pilot to step down to the planet’s surface. The snow was met by petite boots as slender legs carried their owner across the snowscape. The pilot walked a short distance from the craft before stopping.

 

A sigh passed though the black and silver mask over the pilot—the knight’s face I a pneumatic hiss before stillness reigned once more, as even the dark folds of the robes and clock lay motionless over slender shoulders.

 

A beat.

 

Then, the knight knelt to the snow, punching a thin arm though the powdery white. When the black gloved hand withdrew from the ice, pale strands of blond were tangled around its tapered fingers, and the head, and mouth, attached to said blond locks let loose a pained cry.

 

“You’re a damn wreck, Revan.” Came the feminine, if modulated, voice of the knight, continuing to drag Revan from his snowy tomb.

 

It took a moment in time for Reen Ren to respond, his normally fair skin a deathly white save for the blood freezing across his face as crimson ice. His blue eyes were nearly colorless as he stared skyward, and his darkened lips formed soundless mutterings before he voice.

 

“Where were you?”

 

A scoff, “Excuse me if I couldn’t fly in to save your sorry ass, I was busy outflying two X-Wings.” The knight shook her head, “Don’t tell me that upstart general did this to you.”

 

“Of course not!” Revan hissed, struggling and failing to sit up. “It was Master Kylo.”

 

“Master Kylo?” The question was barely more than a whisper, “Why would he—”

 

“They have him, Ventress.” Revan finally fought to his feet, though ihs stance was still unsteady, “They took Master Kylo away from us.”

 

A harsh his escaped the mask of Ventress Ren, “How could they possibly—”

 

“It’s _him._ _”_ Revan fumed, his calm visage marred by his wound and furious scowl, “That so called _general_ is the same padawan from the temple; the one who dared raise his blade against Master Kylo.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

The Rogue slowly lifted his arm to his face to better examine his missing hand. “I could not be more sure in my life…”

 

Ventress scoffed, “I knew Master Kylo should have beheaded him when he had the chance…”

 

“Indeed.” Revan clenched his remaining hand, “But I will be sure to correct his error.”

 

“We cannot, Supreme Leader has plans for the general.” Ventress shook her head, “But we cannot wait here. Marek is still somewhere in the snow. We shall need to fetch him before reporting back to Supreme Leader.”

 

There was a moment in which Revan did not respond immediately, contenting himself to glare into the blank whiteness of Ilum’s landscape. Finally, he expelled his breath in a fine cloud of steam.

 

“Yes, Supreme Leader will be expecting our report.”

 

Ventress slowly made her way back to her TIE, Revan following behind at a sluggish pace. “Supreme Leader will not be pleased with our report: Opress and Vos are both dead, and there is no sign of Caedus, so I can only assume he is dead as well. With Master Kylo gone as well, that leaves only the three of us: you, me, and Marek.”

 

“No.” Revan grit his teeth, “We will get Master Kylo back…and I will make that general pay…”

 

* * *

 

 

Finn had learned a lot of things during the short time since he first escaped the First Order, about the war, about people, and about life. And if he could sum up his newfound knowledge with a single adage, it would no doubt be “expect the unexpected.”

 

And tending to a batch of First Order officers in a Resistance base medical bay was, if nothing else, unexpected.

 

Nearly every bed in the medical bay was filled with an officer of the First Order, while various doctors and nurses rushed from bed to bed with a wide array of medical supplies.

 

“Still trying to come to grips with this, buddy?”

 

Blinking, Finn turned his attention to Poe, who had come to stand by his side in the medical bay entrance. “Something like that…” Finn shook his head, “Is this a…normal situation for the Resistance?”

 

“What, taking in First Order officers?” Poe raised an eyebrow. “I can’t say it is, buddy.”

 

“You all seemed to take to me relatively well.” Finn muttered quietly.

 

Poe snorted, crossing his arms as he observed the scene before him. “To be fair, you did help me escape, and then completed my mission to boot…however accidental that may have come to pass.” He added, upon seeing Finn open his mouth to protest.

 

Finn looked down at the ground, “I’m not so sure…” He sighed, running a hand over his hair. It was starting to get longer than he usually kept it… “This whole thing with Hu—with Braeda…it’s made me question everything…”

 

“Trust me, you’re not the only one, buddy.” Poe smiled softly, “Speaking of which, where is our illusive spy?”

 

“Ben and the general rushed him to one of the back rooms, I believe.” Finn nodded, “Keep him away from prying eyes, probably. But the general left shortly after, probably to handle some political issue…”

 

“I certainly wouldn’t doubt that, it always seems General Organa is putting out one fire after another.” Poe added, “…I sure hope we have a plan on how we’re going to explain to everyone that our spy is—”

 

“Oh _now_ you get to talk about the spy!”

 

Both Finn and Poe turned at the voice of Karé Kun, making her way down the corridor with Iolo at her side. Both pilots still had their helmets tucked under their arms and their jumpsuits still fully fastened.

 

Iolo’s violet eyes were narrowed in annoyance, “I just had to field a dozen questions from Dagger Squadron, asking about the _spy_ we brought back.”

 

““ _Off the record_ ” he says. “ _You_ _’re not tell anyone about what transpired here_ ” he says.” Karé put her hand on her hip, full lips pulled into a pout, “After all that work, and you’re telling us we’re the _last_ to know about this?”

 

Poe sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose, “To be fair, guys…I didn’t know the general was going to inform the whole base about this until right before we landed. In case you couldn’t tell, today has been pretty crazy.”

 

“You know,” Iolo shook his head, “I would have just called it a day with the destruction of _Starkiller._ We won, didn’t we?”

 

Finn smiled softly. They did…they had won…

 

“Yeah, well you don’t know the half of it.” Poe chuckled, “We’ve been pretty busy today: saving the galaxy from the First Order, reuniting the general with her long lost son, rescuing a Jedi spy, who just happens to be a pupil of Skywalker’s, and gathering First Order defectors like they were collector’s items.” He turned to Finn, a tired smile on his face, “Did I miss anything?”

 

“No, I think you got it.”

 

Iolo and Karé stared at the two for a beat.

 

“I’m sorry, did you say the general has a son?” Karé raised an eyebrow.

 

Poe nodded, “Yeah, but I have to tell you he’s taken, I’m afraid.”

 

The blonde captain responded with a rude hand gesture while Iolo shook his head.

 

“I’m not drunk enough for this…” Iolo rubbed his hand over his face, looking past Poe and Finn into the medical bay, “So is this them? The officers?”

 

“Yeah, that’s them.” Poe shrugged, turning his attention back towards the occupied beds, “One of the Knights of Ren got to them before we did, did quite the number on them.”

 

“They’re all practically kids…” Iolo scanned over the medical bay, his gaze flitting from bed to bed until it settled one one of the beds. The Keshian stared for a moment before pointing towards the bed, “What’s with that one?”

 

Finn looked to where the Keshian pilot was pointing, to the bed where the medical officer was hard at work. “Besides the fact that he’s been beaten half to death?”

 

“Yeah, there’s something off…”

 

Finn watched as Poe nodded at Iolo’s words, stepping into the medical bay before calling out, “Doctor Kalonia, what seems to be the problem with your patient over there?”

 

The doctor, Kalonia, Finn noted, looked up briefly at Poe, “Other than the fact that this poor boy shouldn’t be alive at the moment?” She shook her head, “On top of the broken ribs and nearly crushed windpipe, he’s got a bizarre discharge leaking from his eyes.”

 

Iolo was making his way through the chaos of the medical bay before Finn even noticed that the Keshian had even moved. The pilot stopped at the side of the mystery patient’s bed, peeling off his flying gloves before prying open one unresponsive eye.

 

“Kriff…” Iolo swore, “This kid’s Keshian…”

 

“Half, according to my source.” Poe nodded, “Which is why he hasn’t died from his wounds already.”

 

“Yeah, he’ll live though the wounds alright, but this boy’s got ruptured eye implants!” Iolo turned to Kalonia, “You have to removed those implants first, before you deal with his other injuries, or the leaking dye will cause irreparable damage to his eyes, even blinding him for life.”

 

Poe raised an eyebrow, “Good catch, Iolo…”

 

The pilot shrugged, moving out of the way as Kalonia’s men frantically moved to prepare for eye surgery, “Trust me, there are few fates worse than death for a Keshian, but blindness is one of them.” He shook his head, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get back to my original evening plans of getting rip roaring drunk and passing out in my bunk.”

 

Karé chuckled, “You better save some for me, Iolo.” She smiled, slinging her arm over his shoulder as the two made their way down the hallway.

 

When the two were out of sight, Finn turned his attention back to Poe, “That was…interesting…”

 

Poe smiled softly, “Keshians see a lot of things humans can’t. They see more spectra of light than we do, though there’s some debate if they can see more than just light…not that Iolo will tell me.” He shook his head, “Anyway, believe it or not, we have business to attend to.”

 

Finn raised an eyebrow, “Really?”

 

“Yeah, we need to escort the first officer for questioning.” Poe nodded, pointing at the officer in question.

 

The redhead was the only officer who was not occupying a bed, instead situated in a lone chair. It appeared he had already been given medical treatment, if the small bandage above his temple was anything to go by, and someone along the line had the foresight to place the office in binders, his bound hands laying in his lap as he waited beside the bedside of another officer.

 

As Finn and Poe approached the officer (keeping out of the way of the medical workers, of course), the officer looked up from his hands in his lap up towards the two.

 

“I guess it’s time then?” The officer asked, though to Finn, the words sounded with more then the finality of a statement than the curiosity of a question.

 

“There are quite a few people who would like to ask you some questions about what happened, and why a group of officers from the First Order suddenly decides to defect.” Poe nodded, running a hand through his hair, “So if you don’t mind—Rodinon, was it?—you’ll be coming with me for a bit.”

 

Rodinon stood slowly without a word, and Finn could see the resignation that had become etched on the officer’s face and, for a moment, he was reminded of the the man’s behavior while they had been on the _Falcon._

As Poe moved to lead the officer away, he turned to look at Finn, “I need you to stay here and keep an eye on the activity here, can you do that for me, buddy?”

 

“Yeah, yeah!” Finn nodded eagerly, “I’ve got it handled here, don’t worry.”

 

Poe gave Finn a smile that had Finn’s chest feeling oddly warm and tight, “Great, thanks buddy.” He chuckled, “If the general comes by to see our...special guest, just let her know where I'm at.”

 

Finn smiled, “Yeah, I will.”

 

As Poe made his way out of the medical bay with Rodinon by his side, Finn’s attention was drawn by movement in the bed beside him as the bed’s occupant sluggishly returned to consciousness. Finn watched the petite blond opened his eyes slowly, concern marring his previously peaceful expression.

 

“Where are they taking him?” Came the weak query, as dark eyes narrowed in on Poe and Rodinon’s exit.

 

“Poe’s just taking Rodinon to answer some questions.” Finn nodded, moving closer to the young officer’s side, “How are you feeling? Do you need me to get a doctor…” He trailed off as he observed the chaos of the medical bay, “I think a doctor might be free soon…”

 

“I don’t know how they can be efficient in this mess.” The officer muttered, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper. “It’s all chaos…”

 

“To be fair, I don’t think these are normal circumstances.” Finn nodded, watching the constant rush of medical officers and doctors tending to the wounded, “Though, yeah, I get what you mean. Certainly nothing like the First Order medical bay.”

 

The officer gave Finn a curious look, and Finn sighed in resignation.

 

“I used to go by FN-2187.” Finn explained, “Though my name is Finn now…”

 

“Ah, FN-2187…” The officer nodded, “Ian Thanisson…I watched your escape…I reported the TIE’s unauthorized departure…”

 

Finn couldn’t help but chuckle, “Yeah, rather spectacular that was…can’t believe I got tripped up on the tether…”

 

“It certainly wasn’t what I expected when I began my shift that cycle…” Thanisson shook his head slowly, wincing slightly in pain. “Never thought I’d be doing the same thing shortly after…”

 

“There are a lot of things we don’t expect to do until the time comes to actually do it.” Finn nodded slowly.

 

Thanisson didn’t answer right away, simply staring at the mess of medical personnel rushing to and from various beds. After a few moments, Finn wondered if the young officer was about to fall back asleep.

 

“How long did they torture you?”

 

Blinking, Finn struggled to piece together the meaning with Thanisson’s words, “I’m sorry?”

 

Thanisson briefly looked back at Finn before staring straight forward once more, “I’m sorry, how long did they “interrogate” you? I just…I want to know what to expect…maybe try and prepare myself…”

 

It took Finn longer than it should have to process what Thanisson was trying to say. And, while he was horrified at the _thought_ of any of his friends in the Resistance (Poe especially) _torturing_ anyone for information, he knew that the idea wasn’t such a foreign one from his time in the First Order. It wasn’t so long ago that Finn had believed the lies the First Order, about the barbarous tactics of the Resistance. Oh the things he believed…

 

“They didn’t.”

 

Thanisson looked back at Finn, and Finn could see the confusion on his face, “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean, they didn’t torture me.” Finn smiled as reassuringly as he could, “The First Order lied about what the Resistance does. They don’t torture people, they aren’t going to sell you to slavers, they don’t rape virgins or any of the things they told us. They…the First Order lied about the Resistance.”

 

For a moment, Thanisson didn’t respond, and a comfortable silence settled between them as they watched the other officers receive treatment.

 

“You know,” Thanisson finally spoke, “I’m starting to think that the First Order lied about a lot of things.”

 

* * *

 

 

 _Tell the truth_ , that was what Hux had told him. But Hux wasn’t Hux, was he? He was a spy, a Jedi cultist with black magic. What was the truth? Did he even know it enough to tell it if he was asked?

 

“Your name is Rodinon, is that correct?”

 

“Y-yes…”

 

“First name—”

 

“I…I don’t like my first name. I prefer to just go by my last name.” There, that truth wasn’t so hard…

 

“Could you write it for us? So we have it for our records?”

 

“Yes, of course.” A datapad was passed to him, and he managed to slowly type out his own name, so foreign to him, with his shackled hands.

 

“Thank you.” He didn’t understand, interrogators aren’t supposed to thank him for giving them what they want… “Now, can you tell us a bit about why you and the other officers fled the First Order?”

 

“I…I can try, I can’t speak for everyone’s reasons though.”

 

“Then just speak for your own. Why did you decide to flee from _Starkiller?_ _”_

 

 _“_ Because…I knew that would be my only chance to escape…with all the destruction going around, the higher ups wouldn’t notice another missing lieutenant.” He shook his head slowly, “I…I didn’t want to die a murderer…”

 

“Are you a murderer, Rodinon?”

 

“…yes…”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because…because I worked Fire Control on _Starkiller_ …”

 

_Today is the end of the Republic!_

“…I was on duty that day…” 

_The end of a regime that acquiesces to disorder!_

_“…_ I followed my orders…”

_At this very moment, in a system far from here the New Republic lies to the galaxy while secretly supporting the treachery of the loathsome Resistance._

“I thought it was supposed to be a warning shot…a display of power…”

 

_This fierce machine which you have built, upon which we stand, will bring an end to the Senate!_

“I fired upon the Hosnian system…”

_To their cherished fleet!_

_“_ I killed all those people…”

_All remaining systems will bow to the First Order!_

_“_ But I couldn’t do anything but watch…horrified…”

_And will remember this... as the last day of the Republic!_ "

 

“I thought I was working toward peace…that’s what they told us!” His voice was cracking, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

“Who is “they”?”

 

“The Academy, the First Order higher ups, take your pick, lady.” He sighed, trying to calm himself. Being rude would only land him in pain, he knew that, “We all believed it, too. That the First Order was trying to restore peace and order though the galaxy…and that we needed force to accomplish our mission.”

 

“And…what do you believe now?”

 

“…I’m starting to think that everything I knew, everything I ever believed in…was a lie…” He shook his head, looking down at his shackled hands, “I’m starting to think that the First Order is using the word “order” as a pretty disguise for “control.””

 

“That’s what we believe, as well.”

 

* * *

 

 

Lieda Motha turned her attention away from the man across the table from her, standing slowly before exiting the small room they were using as an interrogation room. On the other side of the door, General Organa and Commander Dameron turned from where they had been observing the interrogation room on a monitor.

 

“What do you think?” She whispered.

 

Leia sighed, “He’s telling the truth, from what I can sense…”

 

Lieda shook her head, “We cannot trust your sense alone, General, no matter how adept you at with the Force…”

 

“I’m not asking you to.” Leia replied, “But you have to admit there is more to this than some officers fleeing for their lives.”

 

Commander Dameron nodded, “I know this might sound strange, but I do think this guy is being honest about doubting the First Order. When I was running the rescue mission on Ilum, he helped me escort his cohorts to the _Falcon_ without resisting once. And, if I may be frank, he’s certainly not acting like any of the officers I encountered during my time in First Order captivity.”

 

“Be that as it may, we cannot simply trust him or the other officers on your instincts alone, regardless of how keen they are.” Lieda sighed, “How is our spy doing?”

 

Leia smiled weakly, “He’s currently being tended to by my son in a secluded area of the medical bay.”

 

“Well, I’ll need to see him. Perhaps he can shed some light on these officers.”

 

Both the general and the commander shared a shifty glance, and though Lieda had no sense for the Force, she had the feeling that there was something being exchanged between the two of them that they did not feel safe voicing aloud.

 

“What?”

 

Dameron cleared his throat, “Well, you see…about our spy…”

 

General Organa stepped in, “Lieda, you must understand, after he went in to the First Order, the only contact I had with him was encrypted messages to my datapad, I never knew his new identity…”

 

“Leia, you’re starting to worry me. Who is our spy?”

 

“…It’s General Hux.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, chapter two! I don't know why, but I actually wrote these scenes out of order, then assembled them into the correct order. I dunno, one scene just really demanded to be written first, won't say which one, but... Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

When he was younger, and hopelessly in love, Ben used to imagine, daydream, what his first time undressing Braeda would feel like. The older teen had always maintained a level head against Ben’s raging hormones, keeping to chaste kisses and whispered words of adoration while promising more when Ben finally came of age.

 

Fate…or rather, Ben, had not been kind enough to allow that promise to come to fruition.

 

But Ben still remembered those daydreams.

 

And he never imagined undressing Braeda would unfold in the back room of the Resistance’s medical bay.

 

“Careful…” Ben murmured, more to himself than to Braeda, as he gently peeled off Braeda’s undershirt. The white material had long since been stained black with blood and char, clinging to the open wound.

 

Braeda hissed as the pull of his shirt opened his scorched side, allowing brilliant scarlet to cascade over dried black. “Now that I’m not numb from the ice, that really smarts…”

 

“Kriff…” Ben bit his lip, wadding up the ruined shirt to press against the wound, “I really should get a doctor for you, or at least a med droid…”

 

“You know what your mother said.” Braeda smiled weakly, leaning against the broken down medical cot, “And you should get yourself looked at, if you see a med droid.”

 

Ben blinked slowly, brow furrowed in confusion. At least, until Braeda pointed his good hand at Ben’s shoulder. It wasn’t until he saw the raw red flesh of his shoulder through his burned shirt, and felt the throbbing pain, that he remembered his duel with Revan.

 

He must have been releasing his pain to the Force…or had been too focused on Braeda to notice…

 

“I’ll be fine…”

 

“I’m sure you will be, but you should still get it taken care of.” Braeda nodded slowly, “At least one of us should be taken care of…at least before the bantha shit hits the exhaust vent.”

 

Ben shook his head, placing his hand over Braeda’s wound, “At least let me take care of you first.”

 

Braeda only smiled softly, “We both know that healing was never your specialty, Ben…”

 

“Let me try.” Ben insisted, and, if Braeda’s slow nod was anything to go by, the redhead relented

 

It was true, healing had never been a skill that came naturally to Ben. It required a great deal of control and meditation on order to guide the Force to speed a body’s natural healing process. A skill that his Uncle Luke had been able to master, and Braeda had some skill in it as well from what Ben remembered. But, as it was, what Force he was able to manipulate around Braeda’s wound was barely enough to stop the currently bleeding.

 

Ben sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose as the beginnings of a tension headache took root, “I’m sorry…”

 

“You’ve done more than you think, Ben.” Braeda reached up to touch the tips of his fingers to Ben’s temple. Already, the throbs of Ben’s headache began to fade.

 

“You’re always taking care of me, aren’t you?” He shook his head slowly.

 

“Well we did establish the fact that I love you, Ben, and that tends to be what one does when they love someone.”

 

Ben snorted, “I doubt most would take that level of care to your level of drastic measures.”

 

A wry smile passed over Braeda’s face, “Well perhaps I picked up my habit for “drastic measures” from you and your family.”

 

He couldn’t argue with that. But the brief moment of humor between the two was cut short by a tremor rippling through the Force.

 

“Your mother’s upset.” Braeda murmured.

 

“She’s not the only one.” Ben agreed, “I can only assume that they know who you are…”

 

Braeda nodded slowly, “They’re on their way here…”

 

“Not long now…” Ben ran a hand through his hair slowly, “So what do we do?”

 

“Remove my arm.”

 

Ben frowned, watching Braeda carefully, “What?”

 

Braeda only smirked, “The mech one, Ben. Remove that one. I’ve grown rather adept at using my left arm, so I’d like that one to remain in place.”

 

As Ben examined the piece of machinery, he couldn’t help but remember the night in which he had removed its flesh and blood counterpart.

 

 _Braeda, kneeling in the mud, clutching his shoulder where his arm used to be, and pain twisting his face into a grotesque replica_ _…_

 

Detaching the mech arm, in comparison, took a great deal more concentration. There were various wires, circuits, bolts and screws, pistons and gears…delicate parts that should have been working seamlessly together to pass as nerves and muscles of a genuine limb. Should have.

 

“This maintenance work is bantha shit, Braeda.” Ben muttered, unfastening what he could. It seemed only the will of the Force had kept the arm from malfunctioning before this point, “Who was maintaining this?”

 

“I was.” Braeda chuckled, “I did pick up a lot of the basics from you, but mechanical engineering was never my strong point. That, coupled with the fact that I couldn’t exactly have someone in the First Order make any repairs, since Brendol Hux II has no recorded prosthesis, I had to make due. Especially since I had to made some…modifications.”

 

“I can see that…” Ben trailed off, placing his hand on the panel where his lightsaber had pierced Braeda back on _Starkiller_ , “Good work with that homing beacon by the way.”

 

“Thank you, I thought it might come in handy someday.” Braeda nodded, “And just pull the arm off, Ben. The nerve circuits are destroyed, so I won’t be able to feel anything.”

 

Ben nodded, dislocating the limb from its socket and snapping what remaining wires were left to hole the arm to Braeda’s body. “So what’s the plan with your arm?”

 

“You’ll need to disassemble it and give the parts to the Resistance leaders.” Braeda nodded, “With the exception of the middle digit of the little finger…please don’t give that to them…”

 

“May I ask why?” Ben raised a curious eyebrow.

 

“That one…is not for the Resistance. It’s for someone else.”

 

Ben wanted to inquire further, but stopped himself from speaking as the sounds of agitated voices could be heard making their way through the main chamber of the medical bay. They were coming…

 

“It’s time.” Braeda whispered, using his good arm to force himself into a sitting position as the door to the back room opened with a muted hiss to permit the entourage of commanding officers.

 

There were some that Ben recognized from his childhood, like Ackbar (though, really, it was hard to forget the Mon Calamari), but for the most part, the leaders of the Resistance were unfamiliar to Ben. And, though he would never admit it, he found himself gravitating towards his mother as the arguments reached their boiling point.

 

“Gentlemen, please, this is not a time to act rashly…” His mother sighed in exasperation.

 

“Leia, you must be out of your kriffin’ mind!” Came the harsh reply of one of the younger men (an admiral, if Ben was reading the badge on the man’s uniform correctly), pointing an accusatory finger at Braeda, “You’ve brought our greatest enemy into the heart of our base!”

 

“He is _not_ our greatest enemy.” Leia insisted, stepping between Braeda and there rest of the officers, “I can assure you all that, regardless of his identity, this _is_ the mole who has provided us with a great deal of our most valuable intel for more than a decade.”

 

Ackbar did not seem convinced, “You said yourself you did not know the true identity of your spy after he infiltrated the First Order. For all we know, this could be a tr—”

 

“Don’t finish that sentence, Gial.” His mother had all but fixed herself into her usual fit of strong wills, “And I know that Hux could easily pretend to be a spy, I’m not a fool. But there is no way that he could pretend to be a Jedi, which Braeda was.”

 

“We cannot rely on your instincts through the Force alone, Leia.” This response came from the only other woman in the group, and her mannerisms seemed more calm than the others in the assembly, his mother included.

 

“Then shoot me.”

 

All eyes (including Ben’s) turned to Braeda in surprise, as if they had all forgotten that he was even present, despite the face he was the center of their argument. But as Ben observed Braeda’s emotionless expression, and the ramrod straight posture, he couldn’t help but wonder if he wasn’t looking at Braeda, but instead at General Hux.

 

“Come again?” Leia blinked slowly as her expression changed from shocked to confused as she watched Braeda.

 

“I said shoot me.” Braeda repeated, “You all are so determined for me to prove myself as your spy and a Jedi, then test me yourself.”

 

The admiral who had first voiced his doubts crossed his arms, “What are you trying to pull, Hux?”

 

“An end to the arguments really.” Hux, Braeda, drawled slowly, “Shoot me, and either I prove myself a Jedi, or you’ve killed the only remaining commander of the First Order. Really, there is no outcome in which you don’t win.” There was a small quiver in Braeda’s cheek, and Ben could feel the redhead’s distress though the Force, “Whatever it is going to take for you all to make up your minds. Forgive me for sounding harsh, but in the past thirty hours, I have been stabbed twice, thrown down a stairwell, choked two-no, three times, and nearly froze to death on Ilum, and I think it’s starting to catch…” Braeda faltered, and Ben could see the sharpness fading from Braeda’s slate eyes, “…starting to catch up…”

 

Ben was the only one who could react fast enough as Braeda fell forward in a dead heap, catching the redhead’s limp body before it hit the floor in a boneless pile as the other occupants reacted in a mix of surprised cries of dismay and shocked expletives.

 

“Ben, is he stable?” His mother asked, moving to stand by Ben’s shoulder.

 

“Stable, yes.” Ben nodded, embracing Braeda’s unconscious presence in the Force, “But…if that is his list of injuries…he may need to spend the night in a bacta tank.”

 

“Agreed.” Turning back to the other officers, Ben could see his mother’s demeanor change to that of a commanding General, “I think we can all agree to postpone judgment, either for guilt or innocence, until medical aid has been provided and we’ve all been able to get some kriffing sleep. We’ll place a guard detail outside the medical bay, to make sure no one goes in or out of medical without authorization. Any objections?”

 

While it was obvious that none of the group were pleased at Braeda, Hux’s, presence, the officers all held their tongues. Well, it was a start, at least.

 

“Good.” Ben could see the slight sag in his mother’s shoulders, no doubt from the infinitesimal sigh of relief she released, as she turned towards him, “Ben, help the droids get Braeda, General Hux,” she added at the annoyed looks of her officers, “into a bacta tank?”

 

“Of course.” Ben nodded, carefully shifting his hold on Braeda to move him to an upright position. Undressing Braeda further would be even more difficult now…

 

“Good.” His mother placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, “I’ll have someone show you to my quarters when you’re done.” She chuckled tiredly, “It’ll be a tight fit, I already had to move your father there to make room in Medical for all these officers…you may even have to sleep on the floor.”

 

“I could sleep anywhere after a day like this.” Ben muttered. Next to having holding Braeda in his arms again, sleep sounded like the best thing in the galaxy at that moment.

 

* * *

 

 

Everything was dark.

 

Dark and…thick. No, not thick…slow…no, that wasn’t right either…was everything slow, or was it just him? His fingers felt slow, heavy as they slowly twitched to life. He was slow then?

 

Wait…where was he? Slow hands slid over coarse fabric. A bed? Yes. A bed. Why a bed? Who’s bed? His bed? Was he in his quarters?

 

No…he couldn’t be in his quarters…he didn’t have quarters…not since he left…then where?

 

Opening his eyes would help. Observation was key, he’d need to see his surroundings in order to observe properly. How had he not opened his eyes previously? He always opened his eyes first thing when he woke up…

 

But he couldn’t.

 

If his body felt slow and heavy, then his eyes were doubly so, eyelids sealed tighter than an airlock, despite his mind’s desperate insistence for them to open.

 

He couldn’t see.

 

Everything was dark.

 

_Everything was dark. Where had the world gone? Where was Mommy? Where was Daddy?_

_He couldn_ _’t see anything. Everything was gone. He needed to find it…_

_“Easy, Dopheld, there’s no need to fret.”_

_He knew that voice. That was Daddy_ _…but where was he? He had to find him…_

_“Dopheld, you need to stay in your bed, or you’ll hurt yourself.”_

_Hands were on his shoulders, large and strong as they pushed him down on the bed._

_“Daddy, I can’t see…” The world was gone, everything was gone…_

_“I know, son.” Daddy’s normally gruff voice was softer, quiet. Was he close? Far away? “Remember the doctor we saw? He made sure to fix your eyes. You just need to wear the bandages for  a few days.”_

_“Fix my eyes…” Yes. The doctor. Big red eyes and a mean smile…arguing with Daddy about credits… made him lie down and fall asleep…_

_But_ _…fix his eyes? “Will I look like Daddy now?”_

_A deep chuckle._ _“Yes, son. Our eyes will match now.”_

_He liked Daddy_ _’s dark eyes, how they had white and brown and black in them… “I’m glad.”_

_“I’m glad too, son.” Hands gently squeezed his shoulders, “Maybe if you keep up with your studies, we can look into sending you to the Academy next year.”_

_“Really? You promise?”_

_“I promise, son.”_

_He hoped he could go to the Academy. Daddy always talked about it, but he couldn_ _’t go because of his eyes…he wanted to make Daddy proud now that they were fixed…_

_“Where’s Mommy?”_

_The nothingness was back, Daddy was far away. He wasn_ _’t answering, he wasn’t there…did Daddy leave…_

_“She’s…” Daddy sighed heavily. Daddy did that when he was tired, he knew, “She went to a party, son.”_

_Oh. Well that made sense. Mommy loved her parties. They must be really fun, because Mommy always came home laughing really loud, though she always seemed to fall over a lot. He wasn_ _’t allowed to go to any of Mommy’s parties, because of his eyes, and Daddy never wanted to go. On nights when Mommy went to a party, and Daddy was home on leave, he and Daddy would watch old holovids and Daddy would tell him stories of his time serving the Empire…_

_“Don’t worry, son.” Daddy’s warm hand was moving against his hair, smoothing it back. Daddy always smoothed his hair back… “I’ll take care of you until we can take your bandages off. I still have several days left of my leave.”_

_“Ok Daddy…”_

He couldn’t see, he couldn’t assess his surroundings, he couldn’t properly evaluate his situation. What was the last thing he had seen?

 

_A tall, menacing figure clothed in black, his identity obscured by an equality dark mask._

_A Knight of Ren_ _…_

_“Stay behind me…” Hux’s tired face turning back to look at him, at all of them, as the Knight reached for the General…spy…_

_Hux fell to his knees as the Knight clenched his fist, grasping desperately at his throat, and Mitaka couldn_ _’t help but think back with horror to his various encounters with Kylo Ren…_

 

_The Knight jerked his grasped hand suddenly, and Hux was abruptly tugged away from the rest of the officers and into the arms of the Knight. Hux was barely struggling, though his injuries made resisting a futile venture._

_It was rather suddenly that Mitaka realized that, if Hux was taken by the Knight, the rest of them would be left behind on the ice planet, with a disabled cargo ship as their only shelter. Their fates would only vary depending on if death came to them by freezing or starving._

_He couldn_ _’t let that happen._

_His blaster was raised before he had realized what he was doing._

_“Mitaka, don’t!” Though Hux’s words of warning fell on deaf ears, as Mitaka fired shot after shot at the Knight of Ren._

_Fat lot of good it did him, as he watched, in utter horror, as the brilliant lights of the bolts froze in mid air, held in place by the the Knight_ _’s hand._

_“Big mistake.” The Knight drawled, almost bored as he sent the blaster fire harmlessly into the far wall of the freighter._

_He could feel the telltale grasp around his throat, pulling him off his feet as it crushed his windpipe. So distressed by his loss of air, he didn_ _’t even register the fact that he had been thrown across the ship until the ship’s control panel had rushed to meet him._

_And darkness reigned._

Where was he? A bed, yes, but where? Had the Knight taken them all back to the First Order? Was he awaiting his trial for deserting? Or his execution? He needed to know.

 

He needed to see.

 

It took longer than he would have liked for his hands to make their way to his face, fingers scrambling to meet the sticky strips of Bacta bandages covering his eyes in attempts to pull them off.

 

“Hey, knock that off.”

 

Rough hands grasped his wrists, prying his hands away from his face, and Mitaka found himself powerless to stop his attacker.

 

“Stop that, you’ll hurt yourself, kid.”

 

The hands pinned his wrists down to his sides, and Mitaka found that, as he struggled, jolts of pain began to cut through the heavy darkness.

 

“The pain meds’ll be wearing off, I bet…they never do stay in effect long enough…”

 

The rough hands were right when it came to that. As the heaviness began to wane, more and more of his body began to hurt, some parts a dull ache, others more piercing.

 

“I won’t call a med droid to drug you up again. With your eyesight gone, you’ll need whatever remaining senses you have just to keep from having a panic attack.”

 

Mitaka grit his teeth, “I was _not—_ _”_

 

“No, but you would have. It’s a common enough thing with blinded Keshians.”

 

He tensed. Rough Hands knew his secret, his flaw…

 

“Relax, your heart rate monitor is freaking out.”

 

Heart rate monitor. He was in a medical bay, then. But…whose medical bay? “…Where…”

 

“You’re with the Resistance, recovering from your injuries.”

 

“Ok…” He took a deep breath to calm his racing heart. He wasn’t back at the First Order…he hadn’t gone back…

 

“Alright, I know the blindness sucks, but bear with me. I need you to picture the room: you’re in a medical bed, I’m standing to your right…kinda leaning over you, sorry about that. There are three beds to your left, two to your right behind me, and six across from you. They’re all full, but your friends are sleeping at the moment.”

 

And Mitaka could picture it, the vague shapes of a small medical ward forming, though they were little more than shapes of shadows and lights in his mind’s eye. He could even “see” Rough Hands leaned over him, still gripping his wrists.

 

“Alright, I’m letting go of you, and I’ll be sitting at the foot of your bed.”

 

The hands released his wrists, the shadowy shape of Rough Hands slowly moved down to the end of the bed, and he could feel the bed dip under the other man’s weight.

 

“Better?”

 

“Yeah…” Mitaka took a deep breath, allowing the pseudo images settle in his mind, “Why…what happened to my eyes? Why are they bandaged?”

 

“Emergency surgery to remove those ruptured implants.”

 

“Why?” The question was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

 

“Because those implants are filled with toxic dyes, and if they leak into your eyes for too long, they fry your eyeballs, and you’re left in eternal darkness.” Rough hands scoffed, “There’s a kriffin’ reason those implant surgeries are illegal on Kesic.”

 

Mitaka didn’t answer. He hadn’t known that…but then again…he had only been on Kesic once when he was four to have the surgery in the first place.

 

“So what’s your name, kid?”

 

“I’m not a kid.” Mitaka frowned, clenching his fists tightly.

 

“Fine, what’s your name, not-a-kid?”

 

He sighed, the breath escaping along with his remaining strength, “It’s Mitaka. Dopheld Mitaka.”

 

“Not exactly a Keshian name.”

 

“I’m not Keshian.”

 

“Yes, you are. Kesic doesn’t care if you’re half-blooded or full, you have the Sight.” Rough Hands scoffed, and Mitaka could feel the weight shift slightly at the end of his bed, “You’re Keshian, whether you like it or not.”

 

* * *

 

 

Normally, the Resistance base on D’Qar would have never fallen into complete silence, with their activities ongoing through all hours of the standard day so as to be best prepared for any possible action they may be forced to take. But after the victory over _Starkiller_ and the First Order, and the chaos of the following celebrations, and the arrival of several First Order officers and a rumored spy, nearly the entire base had succumbed to a well deserved rest.

 

Nearly.

 

Amid the shadows of the structures and hangar bays, a single figure strode through the base corridors, silent save for the gentle rustling of dark fabric as it brushed against the ground. Boots were silent in their footsteps as they traversed the inner maze of the base, confident in reaching their destination.

 

As the door to the medical bay came into view, the guards posted on either side of the door finally took notice of the intruder.

 

The first guard took a step forward, clutching his blaster tightly at the ready, “No one’s allowed into Medical without—”

 

A single gloved hand stopped the guard mid-sentence as he stumbled back against the wall before slumping to the floor in a motionless heap.

 

The second guard did not get the chance to vocalize a single syllable before he shared his partner’s fate, and the door to the medical bay was left unguarded.

 

The door opened with minimal coaxing and only the slightest of noise, admitting the shadowy intruder to prowl the rows of occupied beds. Not that the physical states of lower level First Order officers were of any concern to him. They were not his goal.

 

But he was close.

 

Another door, easily accessed and easily passed.

 

And there he was. Lithe and broken body suspended by the bacta’s viscous liquid like a dancer mid-fall, pale skin nearly glowing under the tanks illuminating lights, firy locks floating en mass in graceful chaos. Peaceful features completely oblivious to the turmoil of their surroundings.

 

“So this is where I find you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No I'm not going to talk about that ending, there's nothing to talk about. Nothing cliffy about that whatsoever... [shifty eyes].
> 
> So I'm sure you all noticed, the mood and tempo for Dreamers is probably going to seem like a downshift from Sleeper, because Sleeper was this jampacked adventure, while Dreamers...well, these first few chapters are probably going to be the crash that comes after the adrenalin rush, in comparison. I can only hope that you are still enjoying the characters and the plot enough to not mind the feels that accompany them.
> 
> If you've been following my works long enough, you know this is the part where I tell you to let me know what you think, and how I will never be able to fully express the depth of how much life your comments give me (and my stories/inspiration/will to continue) life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Another week, another chapter! And you know what I realized? It's been four months since I first started Wake Up, Sleeper. Holy crap, does time fly!

It had been quite some time since Leia had slept in comfort. Her days as a princess, and the luxuries it provided, were long since past (though she more mourned the loss of those she loved rather than her lofty title). That, coupled with leading first a rebellion, and then a resistance, had led to many decades of fitful sleep (if any sleep at all) in various cramped quarters. It had long since been something she had learned to live with.

 

But, as Leia lay in her cramped bunk, sharing the small space with the husband she had not seen in fifteen years (and who always insisted on taking all the covers), and listening to the heavy snores of her son, sprawled out on what little floor space was available in her quarters, she probably had never slept better in years.

 

And, of course, it would have to be interrupted.

 

“Oh, General Organa, it’s absolutely dreadful!”

 

There were times that, despite C3-PO’s insessant nagging and alarmist attitude, Leia couldn’t help but be fond of the protocol droid. This was not one of those times.

 

Beside her, Han groaned as he began to stir, “Why haven’t you scrapped that whiny bucket of bolts?”

 

“Don’t tempt me…” With a sigh (and careful to mind disturbing Han’s wound), Leia brought herself to sit upright, “This had better be good, Threepio.”

 

The old protocol droid shuffled into the room, barely avoiding stepping on Ben’s outstretched hand, his gold and red arms waving in his usual frantic movements, “It’s complete chaos, General! Ever since Artoo reactivated, everyone has been in complete panic—”

 

“Artoo reactivated?” Leia could feel the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. The old astromech hadn’t been active since…since her brother had left. “Are you _sure_ , Threepio?”

 

“Absolutely!” The shiny gold plated headpiece of Threepio’s outer plates bobbed as he nodded, “And he didn’t say so much as a “hello” before he ran off, how terribly rude. After all the time we spent worrying about him, and he can’t even grace us with a simple greeting, the nerve of him—”

 

Leia wasn’t listening, she hadn’t been since she heard Threepio’s confirmation. She had known Artoo nearly her entire life, and she knew the bond the astromech had formed with her brother. If Artoo was reactivated…

 

She was out of her bed before she could allow herself to finish her thought, grabbing a jacket to cover her sleep shirt. She didn’t have time to waste with fussing over proper attire. She had to hurry. She had to see for herself.

 

In her haste, Leia had forgotten about her son’s sleeping position on her floor. It was only after stepping on Ben’s leg and nearly falling on top of him  that Leia took greater care in her movements.

 

Ben, bless his heart, barely flinched at being stepped on, “What’s going on…Where am I?” And, if Leia had the time, she might have been amused by her son’s sleep muddled thoughts.

 

“Ask your father, Ben!” Leia gave as a hasty reply, already racing past Threepio, “Where did Artoo go, Threepio?”

 

The protocol droid didn’t get the chance to answer, as the base intercom crackled to life with the abrasive wail of an alarm.

 

_“Security breech in Sector 3. All Sectors on lockdown.”_

Sector 3.

 

“The medical bay!” Leia didn’t even give Threepio a chance to answer (though she no doubt had an inkling about what his answer might be), already halfway down the corridor by the time the announcement was finished.

 

* * *

 

 

Waking to the sound of an all-systems alarm was nothing short of the stuff of nightmares for Ian. The last time he had been roused from sleep by the blare of an automated security breech alarm, it had been just minutes before he had made his decision to leave the First Order.

 

_He had just been able to fall asleep after working a 20 hour rotation, he should have been permitted at least eight hours of rest before returning to his duties._

_But the urgent call of Starkiller_ _’s emergency systems would not be ignored._

_They were under attack. The Resistance was attacking their base._

_While his mind was already running at full speed as it processed the information presented to him, his body was slow to respond to his commands. It took him too long to get dressed and prepared to return to his station. And every second counted._

_The moment the petty officer opened the door to his barracks to enter the corridor, his mind was assaulted by the chaos of a base under attack. Various crewmen were darting to and from various points throughout the base, filling the corridors with swirling eddies of various uniform colors._

_It was nearly enough to send Thanisson_ _’s keenly trained mind reeling. So much so, he didn’t register the hand on his arm before he was being pulled down the corridor in the opposite direction of his objectives._

_When he did regain his mental awareness, the petty officer turned his attention to the hand grasping his arm, and the officer attached to it._

_“Jain, what are you doing?” Thanisson hissed, his mind briefly forgetting protocol when addressing a superior officer._

_It was only a moment later that the petty officer felt himself being tugged into a maintenance corridor by Ensign Jain Delteff._

_“You’re supposed to be on duty, Jain.” The weary petty officer shook his head, “This is no time to be fooling around.”_

_“I’m not going.”_

_“Don’t joke like that. Jain, you only just got promoted, you don’t want to get written up for failing to report to duty.”_

_“I’m serious, Ian.” And, as Thanisson gaze met Delteff’s hazel eyes, the petty officer was sure of the ensign’s intentions, “I’m going to run.”_

_Thanisson was reaching out to cover his friend_ _’s mouth before his body recoginzed the action, his heart pounding heavy in his chest at even the mention of the traitorous action, “Are you crazy, Jain?”_

_The ensign shook his head free of Thanison_ _’s small hand, his square jaw clenched tightly in determination.“This is the clearest I have ever thought, Ian.” He hissed, “You can’t tell me that you want to continue to be part of this bloodbath. You saw Hosnian, don’t you dare tell me you agree with Hux’s madness.”_

_“You’re talking treason, Jain!”_

_“I’m talking freedom.” Jain’s hands gripped the petty officer’s shoulder tightly, “Look, if we were going to escape, now is the time. No one would think twice about a couple of low level officers going missing, especially during a high risk enemy firefight. They’d probably write us off as KOA, and send the benefits to our families.”_

_“But we can’t just…run…”_

_“Not if we don’t go now, we can’t.”_

_And, in a moment of terrifying realization, Thanisson knew Jain was right. It was now_ _…or never._

_He grit his teeth,_ _“You know I can’t let you go anywhere without me. You’d get yourself killed.”_

_Jain only grinned, grabbing his hand and leading him deeper into the maintenance corridor._

It took Ian a moment longer than he would have liked to realize just where exactly he was, laying in a medic bed in the middle of what was, without a doubt, the messiest medical bay he had ever seen.

 

And the alarm was blaring.

 

The rest of the officers were quick to jolt to awareness, no doubt having their own memories of _Starkiller_ , and many sitting upright in their beds before realizing that they were not in their barracks.

“What the hell is going on?” Came the tired grousing of ensign Idenson, laying in the bed next to Ian.

 

Ian shook his head, “Not sure…” He looked around slowly, as if there should be a clue inside the medical bay.

 

The droid was certainly a new addition.

 

It wasn’t a medical droid, that much was obvious. An astromech, if Ian’s memory served him. An _old_ astromech.

 

And it was trying to get into the back room of the medical bay.

 

“Is it supposed to be doing that?” Idenson frowned, looking between the droid and Ian.

 

Across from Ian, Mitaka was struggling to sit up, heavy bandages still wrapped around his eyes (which, in the back of Ian’s mind, he was grateful for—he still got chills thinking about Mitaka’s eyes), “Is what supposed to be doing what? What’s happening?”

 

“There’s an astromech trying to open the door to Hux…” Ian muttered, watching the droid working on the door’s locking mechanisms. Well, one way to find out. “Oi! R2 unit! Do you have clearance for this sector?”

 

Honestly, Ian hadn’t actually expected an answer. After all, he was an enemy officer (prisoner?), and the droid may have very well been programed to ignore verbal inquires.

 

So when the blue dome of the R2 unit’s optic visor turned to face Ian, he was surprised. When the droid beeped his response, he was appalled.

 

“I beg your pardon? What did you just say?” Ian blanched.

 

Mitaka frowned, “What did the droid say? I don’t speak binary.”

 

“I’m most certainly _not_ repeating what it said!”

 

Even if Ian _had_ wanted to repeat the vulgar droid’s message, he wouldn’t have had the chance, as the doors to the medical bay opened, and various soldiers with blasters stormed into the room.

 

He sighed. Was it really too much to ask for a single moment of peace?

 

* * *

 

 

Poe was used to running on pure adrenalin. Hell, he was probably used to running on adrenalin more often than food and water. But damn, was there ever going to be an end to the hectic twists and turns of the past few days?

 

Judging by the obnoxious wake up call from the alarm, and the fact that he had run through the corridors with his blaster in his hands, he was beginning to doubt it.

 

“I thought we had guards placed at the medical bay?” He grumbled as he entered the crowded medical bay. Honestly, he was spending more time in this medical bay than he usually did when he was actually injured.

 

From beside him, Iolo shook his head, “They were found out cold. And now this antique droid is running around again.” He sighed as they made their way through the medical bay, “Can I go on the record as saying that everyone here has lost their minds?”

 

“Absolutely, but you realize that includes you, right?” Poe smirked.

 

The Keshian scoffed, “Don’t I know it…”

 

Poe raised an eyebrow, “Should I ask?”

 

“Later.” Iolo muttered, as the soldiers soon found themselves joined by General Organa herself. And the general, it seemed, was all but sprinting for the old R2.

 

“Much later.” Poe agreed. He had a feeling this was going to be another long day.

 

* * *

 

 

She needed to be in the medical bay. It didn’t matter that she was not a formal member of the Resistance, that she wasn’t a soldier, that the only weapon she had with her was the dark lightstaff given to her by Braeda— General Hux. Something important was about to happen, and she needed to be in that medical bay to witness it.

 

And, judging by the way Finn was running behind her down the corridor, he felt the same way too.

 

“Can you feel it?” Rey whispered as they rounded the corner.

 

“I would say “yes,” but I don’t even know what I’m feeling right now.” Finn’s voice was near breathless behind her.

 

Rey could understand that much. She couldn’t place a name to the feeling of… _need_ she felt. It was the feeling she had felt about Braeda, that he could tell her what she needed to know. It was the feeling she had felt when she had handed the old Skywalker lightsaber to Ben, that he could be trusted to use it for good.

 

She didn’t know if it was the Force guiding her, or if the Force even worked in that manner, but the feeling was telling her that she could be one step closer to finding out if she could just get in that medical bay.

 

She and Finn were near silent as they stood in the doorway of the medical bay. No one had noticed them, as all attention was on General Organa at the far end of the bay, but neither Rey nor Finn seemed willing to step over the threshold, to officially trespass on the tense scene.

 

Silently, Rey reached out her hand. She didn’t have to look, as she could feel the warmth of Finn’s own callused, gentle grasp envelop her smaller hand. They stood there for perhaps a moment before they each took that solitary step forward.

 

And it was just as crossed that threshold, took that step, that the door before General Organa opened.

 

The feeling intensified as Rey could see the man waiting on the other side of the door, even if it was only a glimpse through the crowded room. And, judging by the way Finn squeezed her hand, he could feel it too.

 

“It’s him…”

 

* * *

 

 

Leia would have been lying if she had claimed she didn’t dream about reuniting with her brother. It had been one of the few things that kept her going the past fifteen years, the thought of seeing him again, having him by her side once more. She had wondered where she would find him after they had the map: if he would be on some deserted planet in the unexplored reaches of space, or if he would be hiding in plain sight for all the galaxy to see.

 

She never though she would find him in her base, locked away in a back room of the base’s hospital wing.

 

Yet there he was, wearing the potato sack he kept insisting was a tunic, face nearly unrecognizable under the gray mop that no doubt served as his hair and a beard, it was still him. Just standing, hands clasped in front of him, as he watched Braeda floating peacefully in the bacta tank.

 

It seemed an eternity before he turned his attention away from the tank to look at her, his endlessly bright blue eyes meeting her gaze.

 

“Good morning.”

 

Leia couldn’t help it, “You kriffing bastard.” At Luke’s surprised expression, she continued, “Fifteen years, Luke, you’ve been gone. Like you had never even been there. Fifteen years, you’ve been missing while there’s been a war going, and we’ve been looking for you, _I_ _’ve_ been looking for you.” She grit her teeth, resisting the urge to hit something, “And your first words back to me are “good morning?””

 

She wanted to keep going. She wanted to keep yelling about all the pain she had suffered through alone, how desperately she had wanted his help, but he had been nowhere to be found. She wanted to ask him repeatedly why he left, and why he had just as suddenly returned.

 

But then he smiled. That same serene smile that held all the wisdom and the joy in the galaxy. That smile that always seemed to say “everything will be just fine,” and the slight sparkle in his eyes that said “don’t worry, I know what to do.” That smile that Leia had _needed_ for so many years.

 

“It’s good to see you too, Leia.” He replied softly, stepping towards her slowly.

 

And just like that, all the pain, all the anger, all the frustration, melted away, and Leia quickly moved to grasp her brother in her arms.

 

“Did you have to break into my base?” She finally asked once their embrace ended.

 

Luke shrugged, “I knew if my presence became known on base, I would be stopped from seeing Braeda.”

 

The mention of Braeda brought Leia’s attention back to the bacta tank, and the problematic red head inside, “Luke, you do know that’s—”

 

“Yes, General Hux.” Luke nodded, running his mechanical hand through his beard, “He informed me when he received that particular promotion.”

 

Leia blinked, “He—”

 

“He’s quite good at sensing and connecting with my presence, a trait you two have in common.” A small smile flitted across his face before vanishing, “Though…our last conversation was a troubling one to say the least. But perhaps that is a discussion we shall have in a more private setting, don’t you think?”

 

It was only then that Leia remembered just where they were standing: surrounded by soldiers and recovering First Order officers.

 

Knowing Luke and his love of theatrics, she wouldn’t be surprised if he had somehow done all this on purpose.

 

“Stand down.” She sighed, looking back at her troops, “Return to your bunks, or your duties, whichever is closest.”

 

Slowly, no doubt with a great deal of hesitation, the various troops put away their weapons and began to file from the medical bay. It wasn’t long until the only people left were her and Luke, the officers who were patients, and Poe, who was attempting to usher Rey and Finn from the room.

 

“She’s grown since I last saw her.”

 

Leia looked at Luke from the corner of her eye as the two made their way out of the medical bay, but Luke had his gaze fixated on Rey, who seemed keen to return the favor.

 

“Of course she’s grown, Luke.” Leia shook her head, “It’s been fifteen years. She’s a woman now, it would be strange if she _hadn_ _’t_ grown.”

 

“I am aware of that.” The Jedi nodded in response, not reacting to Leia’s quip.

 

It was only as they were at the door, standing in front of the trio, that Luke stopped to address the young scavenger.

 

“Braeda needs more rest than we thought.” He began slowly, “But he told me to tell you that he will help you remember once he wakes.”

 

Rey’s dark eyes were wide in awe, though she had enough presence to nod in acknowledgment.

 

“As for me,” Luke continued, “if you could be patient and allow me to discuss some important matters with my sister, I can answer any questions you have to the best of my ability.”

 

“I…” Leia could see Rey squeezing Finn’s hand in a vice grip, “Alright then.”

 

Luke seemed to notice the gesture as well, as his eyes flickered to Finn briefly. And though none of the three noticed, Leia easily recognized the knowing sparkle in his eyes.

 

Turning her attention to her commander, Leia cleared her throat, “Poe, can you and Finn keep an eye on the officers here? Just in case there are any developments?” They both knew that _developments_ would either mean Braeda waking, or someone attempting to break into the medical bay again with less benign purposes as her brother.

 

Poe nodded firmly, “Of course, General Organa. What about the officer we have in the holding cell? Should we move him here to keep an eye on him?”

 

She considered it, “That might be for the best.” Especially considering the holding cell they had was in actuality a storage closet they had hastily moved all the items out of. Not exactly the most secure… “I’ll leave you and Finn to handle it.”

 

With that, the twins made their exit, ambling down the corridors in a comfortable silence. At least verbally because Leia could practically feel her brother’s mind working to solve the problems of the galaxy.

 

“What are you thinking?” Leia found herself asking, though she was afraid of what the answer might be.

 

“The man with Rey—”

 

“Finn.”

 

“—is Force sensitive.” Luke nodded slowly, “It’s untrained, suppressed even, but there’s no mistaking it.”

 

Leia raised an eyebrow, “Finn is a former Stormtrooper…”

 

“Oh how interesting…” Luke nodded slowly, “But no doubt an issue I will need to address later. We have something more important to deal with.”

 

“Luke, when you talk like that, I start to get nervous.” Leia groaned. She hadn’t even had a chance to eat breakfast yet, and her brother was dropping a thermal detonator in the tentative peace of the morning. “You do realize now that you’re here, things will only get more chaotic on base. I was barely able to keep Statura from ordering Braeda’s execution, but I’m sure plenty of them still want him dead for what he did to Hosnian—”

 

“Leave them to me, Leia.” Luke replied calmly, holding himself in that same cool confidence she remembered from their run-in with the Hutt. “I will put them at ease about Braeda, don’t you worry.”

 

“When it comes to you, Luke, I always worry.”

 

If Luke heard her comment, he elected not to react, “Where is the arm, Leia?”

 

“The arm?”

 

“Braeda’s arm.” Luke pressed, turning his gaze to her.

 

Leia shook her head as she attempted to remember, “Last I saw it, Ben had it…you’d have to ask him where he put it.”

 

At the mention of Ben, Leia could feel her brother’s presence quiet slightly, “So he is back, then?”

 

“I was certain you could feel him through the Force.”

 

“I can, I just wanted to have confirmation that it was not my defiantly hopeful spirit playing tricks on me.” Luke murmured, so low, Leia almost missed it, “But we need to get that arm from Ben.”

 

Leia nodded slowly, watching her brother from the corner of her eye, “So this is the part where you tell me why, because I think we can both agree that keeping secrets from each other the past fifteen years was downright awful.”

 

“Agreed.” Luke smiled softly, “But Braeda did more as a mole than simply send you information; he smuggled it out as well.”

 

“His arm?”

 

Luke hummed, a deep and soothing tone, “There are parts in that arm that contain the known bases, financial supporters, suppliers and factories of the First Order, weapons plans for their entire arsenal, layouts for all of their ships, but more importantly—”

 

“More important than all of that?” Oh wonderful, her brother was barely back in her life for five minutes, and already he was making her life more complicated. Just like old times.

 

“Yes, Leia.” Luke nodded firmly, stepping in front of Leia to stop her movement, looking her dead in the eye as he continued, “More important because, before the attack on _Starkiller_ , Braeda was able to steal the plans the First Order had for Phase Two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goddamit Luke, why is it everywhere you go, you make shit complicated? But yay, Luke's back!
> 
> I had so much fun writing Thanisson's flashback. I don't know how this happened, but I'm really starting to love spinning these backstories for these officers, and building their struggle.
> 
> I'm sorry if there hasn't been a whole lot of action in these first few chapters, I underestimated just how much needed to be settled before the main action of the plot could really take off (plus, I have a feeling that when the action does get kicking, there will be frustrated screaming from my bad habit of cliffhangers--sorry?)
> 
> What do you guys think of the officers and their building backstories? Should certain characters get more attention next chapter [shiftily tries to avoid making eye contact with Ben and Braeda]?
> 
> Anywho, let me know what you think! Your comments I swear have been what's kept me writing on this series the past four months!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [looks at wordcount] Oh hey, a chapter that's actually approaching the length of a Sleeper chapter! Does that mean there's Sleeper-esque amounts of action? I don't fucking know, it's two in the morning right now, I can barely see how many fingers I have in front of me (it's twelve at the moment).
> 
> But don't mind me and my sleep deprivation, enjoy the chapter!

They had forgotten about him, he was sure of it. He had hardly slept a wink the night before, despite his exhaustion, because he had anticipated a second interrogation. The first interrogation was just a warm up, he knew that; the questions had been too simple, too…personable. They wanted to put him at ease, lower his defenses, so he would not resist the real questioning.

 

At least, that was what he was sure would happen, before the alarms had begun to sound that morning (or what he thought was morning, as he couldn’t actually see anything from his windowless cell).

 

He had heard more alarms int eh past standard week than he had in his previous five years of service to the First Order combined, and they were never a welcome sound. As for the Resistance, whatever was the cause for the alarm, it had seemingly been dealt with in relatively short fashion, as all was quiet in the area of his cell.

 

And he was forgotten.

 

With a heavy sigh, Rodinon forced himself to sit upright. The cold floor had not been very comfortable for resting, let alone sleeping if he had been so inclined, but considering the lack of bedding, there was nothing for it. In actuality, his cell lacked everything a standard holding cell should have contained: no bedding, no observation “mirror” or cameras, no lavatory (though, thankfully, he had been able to avoid any desperation for that particular need). It was little more than a room with a lock on it.

 

When the faint sound of footsteps outside his cell door reached his ears, he couldn’t help but be relieved at the thought of human contact. Was that their tactic: solitary confinement? No, solitary confinement needed more than a standard day to work effectively. Or, had he been in his cell longer than he thought? The chill of dread cascaded over his body at the thought of succumbing to enemy psy-ops. But, were they still the enemy? He had been running to them, hadn’t he?

 

Rodinon was pulled, mercifully, from his thoughts as the door opened, and a young faced fighter peered in at him, “Oh good, you’re awake!”

 

He blinked at the dark eyes looking down at him, “I can’t imagine anyone sleeping through the alarms…” He sighed, pulling himself to his feet, “So is my interrogator waiting for me?”

 

The young man’s full lips turned down in frown, “Interrogator? No, I was just asked to bring you back to Medical, so you could be with the others.” His gaze turned to the austere room, “Maybe you could rest better in there…”

 

Rodinon couldn’t help it, he scoffed, “I could no doubt sleep better in a Rathtar pit than here.” He shook his head, walking to the…what was he? A petty officer? Ensign? He wasn’t sure how the Resistance ordered their ranks, “But then again, I imagine that is the point of prison cells.”

 

“Actually, I think this is a supply closet.”

 

The former lieutenant stared at the Resistance officer, “I beg your pardon?”

 

“It’s a supply closet.” Came the quick reply, accompanied by a nod, “Apparently the Resistance doesn’t have prison cells.”

 

“Well that’s certainly poor planning.” Rodinon shook his head, “Where do they plan on keeping their prisoners?”

 

“They don’t exactly take prisoners.” A shrug, “Shall we head back to Medical? Thanisson, I think that’s right, asked about you when you were first taken for questioning.”

 

It was a small comfort, knowing that the petite petty officer was well enough to be awake and coherent…well, perhaps not completely coherent, if he had been asking about Rodinon. But it was a comfort that he was selfish enough to cling to. “Yes, I suppose we should get going.”

 

He held out his wrists to the officer, who only gave him a confused expression. “What are you doing?”

 

“Aren’t you supposed to cuff me?”

 

“…I don’t have cuffs…” The other replied, stepping back to allow Rodinon into the corridor, “Like I said…I don’t think the Resistance takes prisoners that often.”

 

Rodinon raised an eyebrow, but followed his guard, “Then what’s to stop me from overpowering you and escaping?”

 

“Do you want to escape?”

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

“I do.” The dark eyes of the other man sparkled in mirth, guiding him through the corridor, “It certainly doesn’t make any sense, does it? They’re fighting a war, and yet they don’t take prisoners, they don’t have protocols for interrogation, no cells, no interrogation droids—”

 

Rodinon shook his head, looking down at his feet. His body was sluggish to respond to his commands, one foot in front of the other, to reach their destination, “You would certainly understand more than I.”

 

“Not really, I’ve only been with the Resistance a few standard days, at least in a more or lesson official sense.” Dark lips parted to release a quiet chuckle, “I have more experience with the First Order than the Resistance.” At the no doubt bewildered expression on Rodinon’s face, the other man continued, “FN-2187—though my name is Finn now.”

 

Well, that was unexpected.

 

“Tell me about it.”

 

Belatedly, Rodinon realize he had spoken aloud, “I apologize, I must be more exhausted than I thought.”

 

FN—2— Finn shook his head, “Nothing to apologize for. I think we can both agree that nothing about this situation fits our usual protocol.”

 

“A bit of an understatement, but I concur.” The former lieutenant muttered, rubbing his hand over his tired eyes, and, for several moments, the two walked shoulder to shoulder in complete silence. Or at least, as much silence as the Resistance base would allow.

 

Finally, he had to speak, “What caused you to betray the First Order? Or, why _like that_?” He knew he didn’t have to specify what “like that” really meant.

 

Finn shrugged, “What caused _you_ to betray the First Order?” He replied, and when Rodinon looked at the former Stormtrooper, he found himself staring into the deep abyss of the other man’s eyes. There was something in those eyes that drew him in, yet at the same time, seemingly pierced through him effortlessly.

 

“Hosnian, right?” Finn asked softly, their steps slowing.

 

Rodinon only found himself nodding numbly.

 

“For me, it was Tuanal.” Finn continued, his hands tucked into the pockets of a battered Resistance fighter jacket, “That was the village on Jakku—”

 

“I know what it was.” He could feel his heart beating against his chest in violent cadence at the thought of Tuanal, at Hosnian, at the First Order—

 

Never again.

 

“By why break out the Resistance pilot?”

 

“Because it was the right thing to do…and I needed a pilot.” Finn chuckled softly, pausing only momentarily at the doorway to the medical bay before the doors opened to admit them.

 

The bay wasn’t all that different from what Rodinon remembered when he had left it: the beds were still lined up and filled with is comrades, and there were still doctors and med droids milling about from one bed to another.

 

Though, Thanisson was sitting up in his bed, and his gaze flicked to them as Finn led Rodinon into the ward.

 

“You look like shit, Rodinon.”

 

“Kriff you, Thanisson.” He muttered, sinking into the chair by the petty officer’s bed. “I spent the night in a supply closet.”

 

Thanisson quirked a thin blond eyebrow, “A supply closet?”

 

“The Resistance doesn’t have prison cells.”

 

“So they shoved you into a closet like bottles of sanitizer?” He smirked at the thought, “Well, while you were sleeping with the brooms, you missed the excitement this morning.”

 

“You mean the alarms?”

 

The blond nodded slowly, leaning back on his pillows, “Yep…turns out Skywalker is here now…”

 

The name “Skywalker” caused Rodinon’s blood to run cold. The Jedi was in the base…his understanding of Skywalker from the First Order told him to be afraid of the cultist’s power, of the danger he posed to peace…

 

But, after seeing Hux, who claimed to have the same loyalties as Skywalker, protecting them despite his own injuries, and seeing the various Knights of Ren, who were the same, but not the same, as Jedi, and the damage they caused…

 

He groaned. The whole thing was so confusing, and he was in no state to piece together the puzzle that was the cult that was the Force. With an exhausted sigh, he allowed his head to droop into his hands, propping his elbows against Thanisson’s bed. The petty officer spared only a glance at him before grabbing his pillow and handing it to Rodinon, who gratefully accepted the comfort, laying his head on the first bit of softness afforded to him since he had arrived.

 

“It’s funny.” Thanisson murmured, trying to smooth his hair into a semblance of order, “I was expecting him to be…taller.”

 

Rodinon only hummed vaguely in response, his eyelids already closing on their own accord as he felt thin fingers making their way through his hair gently. He didn’t have the energy to think about kriffin’ Jedi. He’d worry about that when he woke up.

 

* * *

 

 

“Is it really too much to ask for a few hours of peace and quiet?” Han muttered darkly, struggling to pull himself up from the bed to stand slowly.

 

Ben shook his head, running a hand through his hair sleepily. Sleeping on the floor of his mother’s quarters was a far cry from his quarters on the _Finalizer_ —Ben had slept soundly through the night on that hard floor. “Have you ever had a few hours of peace and quiet?”

 

“I’m sure I had some tucked away at some point.” Came the gruff reply as his father struggled with his shirt.

 

Rolling his eyes, Ben crossed the room to help his father into the shirt. His eyes drifted to the older man’s bandaged side before the dressing was masked by the new shirt, “How is your wound?” He asked softly.

 

Han shrugged the shoulder not attached to the wound in question, “Heck of a lot better than yesterday, gotta love bacta, but I’m getting too old for being shot.”

 

“I’m sure Mom would agree.” Ben couldn’t help but smirk.

 

“Kinda counter productive for my health, being part of the Resistance,” Han chuckled wryly, “But then again, being a smuggler didn’t exactly have the best health benefits either.”

 

“It’s nothing short of a miracle that you hadn’t gotten yourself killed, old man.” Ben chuckled, moving to put on his boots. The black boots were all that remained of his facade of Kylo Ren: the one thing not easily replaced by the Resistance.

 

As he knelt to fasten the boots in place, his gaze drifted across the floor, to the disembodied mechanical arm that had been entrusted to him. It was strange now, seeing the gears and servos that held together the limb, with thin ribbons of silicate serving as a poor substitute for genuine flesh, but Ben had once thought the limb was real. Then again, he had thought the entire man that was Hux was real, as well.

 

Extending a hand, Ben summoned the machinery to him, catching the mech limb easily.

 

_“You’ll need to disassemble it and give the parts to the Resistance leaders.”_

Ben could only imagine just what lay in the mess of parts that Braeda wished to give the Resistance. But, he would do as Braeda asked…it really was the least he could do.

_“With the exception of the middle digit of the little finger…please don’t give that to them…”_

Allowing his gaze to drift to the small digit, Ben carefully grasped it in his hand. The little finger was still completely encased in silicate skin, and so, when Ben popped it from its joint, it came away cleanly. He only hoped that he hadn’t damaged what Braeda had wanted to keep for himself.

 

Ben had just finished placing the digit in his pocket when the door to the room opened and, for the second time that morning, the occupants were interrupted by an overzealous protocol droid.

 

“Oh, it’s a miracle if I do say so myself! We’re saved!”

 

Both Solo men shared an exasperated look. Protocol droids: they may be fluent in six million forms of communications, but it would seem privacy or common courtesies were not on that list.

 

“What are you talking about, Threepio?” Ben muttered. It really was like he was a child again, looking up at the droid that had been an antique when he was a child.

 

“Oh dear.” Threepio replied, turning his optic receivers from Ben to Han and back again, “Oh, it is good to see you, Master Solo, both of you! The General must be so pleased to have you both back—”

 

“She’s overjoyed.” Han interrupted, “Now what the hell had the alarm going on earlier, and why are you trespassing in here now?”

 

If the droid was offended by Han’s gruff remarks, he didn’t show it (then again, lacking much in the way of facial features had a way of doing that), “I’m surprised you haven’t heard the glorious news—”

 

“—that’s why we’re asking—”

 

“—Master Luke is finally returned to us!”

 

Ben could feel his blood curdle as the words left Threepio’s speakers. His uncle was back, and a quick search through the Fore only served to confirm his fears. He had spent fifteen years with the First Order searching for his uncle, intent on destroying him. And now, he was on the base.

 

He could honestly say he wasn’t nervous at the thought of meeting his uncle again.

 

He was _terrified_.

 

So lost in his thoughts, Ben belatedly realized he had missed the rest of Threepio’s message, “What was that?” He asked dimly.

 

“I said the general and Master Luke have called the head officers of the Resistance to meet, and your presence has been requested. General Organa asks that you also bring the arm, though I fail to see how a limb could be much help…”

 

Well, it would seem that he wasn’t going to be given the option to avoid his uncle. With a sigh, he stood, “Lead the way, Threepio.”

 

* * *

 

 

The war room was already full by the time Ben arrived, trailing behind Threepio and cradling Braeda’s arm tenderly in his own. He could recognize the faces of many of the officers present, as they had been present when they had burst into the medical bay, but there were plenty more that he was still unacquainted with.

 

And the weight of all of their eyes on him made him feel like a child sent to receive punishment for misbehaving. Though, considering the fact his uncle was there, that may not have been so outlandish to imagine.

 

Seeing his uncle for the first time in fifteen years was nothing like Ben had imagined it. The man looked nothing like the man he had left at the temple massacre: the gray hair, the wrinkles, the _weight;_ they were all so different.

 

But his eyes…there was no mistaking the piercing gaze of Luke Skywalker. He could remember the days when he and Braeda would joke that the sign of a good Consular was a piercing gaze, and the ability to get the truth without even asking for it.

 

And as those eyes watched him, Ben wanted nothing more than for the ground to part below his feet, and devour him whole.

 

But there was no sign of any of the emotions Ben expected to see on his uncle’s face, emotions that Ben no doubt _deserved_. Instead, a peaceful smile curled at his uncle’s mouth (though it was partially hidden a disaster of a beard…), and he nodded, just once, to Ben before turning his attention back to the topic at hand.

 

Which, coincidentally enough, was still him, after a fashion.

 

“Ben, thank goodness you still have that arm.” His mother sighed, a tired smile on her face, “Could you give it here?”

 

With a small sense of ceremony, and no small bit of determination to hold his head up high in the face of leaders of the Resistance, Ben slowly walked across the room to his mother, slowly extending the mechanical arm to her until she was close enough to take it in her own petite hands.

 

“Men,” She began slowly, “I think I can speak for all of us when I say the past few days have been some of the most exhausting, and most rewarding, we have experienced in the entirety of this war. We have suffered great losses, yes, but we have also dealt a great blow to the First Order. A blow we could not have dealt without the information given to us by the spy who risked his life for the past fifteen years…”

 

There were murmurs among the officers: some in quiet disbelief at Braeda, others still doubting, and others still more surprised at the turn of events that had lead to their victory.

 

If his mother had heard any of the negative comments, she wisely choose to ignore them, “And even now, he has gone above and beyond the assignment given to him, and has brought us information about the First Order that even I was not aware of.” She stated firmly before looking toward her bother, “If you do not believe me, then perhaps Luke will be more convincing to you all.”

 

Ben had to resist the urge to smirk at that one. In his fifteen year absence, his uncle had developed quite the reputation. Though that reputation in the First Order was that of a fugitive cultist with designs of throwing the galaxy into chaos, and should thus be feared, Ben could see that the Resistance was not immune to their fearful respect of the Jedi’s reputation. And his mother had been more than aware of this, no doubt.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” His uncle began, and oh, his voice hadn’t changed in fifteen years, “I have been in contact with my padawan in the years of my absence, and he was able to inform me that he still has crucial information that he managed to smuggle out in the mechanisms of his prosthetic arm.”

 

Ben watched as, with a gesture of his hand, his uncle effortlessly lifted the arm from his mother’s grasp, drawing the limb to the center of the conference table that made the centerpiece of the war room. Then, with both flesh and mechanical hands raised, his uncle began to disassemble the damaged limb.

 

As Braeda’s arm began to break apart, piece by pieces, the mechanisms decorated the air above the table like a star map. It wasn’t long before the first datachip came into view, tucked away behind the homing beacon that had served the redhead so well.

 

After the first, several more datachips began to appear from the wreckage of Braeda’s arm: some more large, no doubt containing small databases, while others were small, perhaps only a few files. But they kept coming.

 

By the time his uncle had finished sorting datachips from useless pieces of mech, there was a good number of datachips in a neat and tidy stack in the center of the room.

 

“From what information has been passed on to me from my padawan.” His uncle continued, “This information spans not only information about the First Order’s current operations, but also the details of what he has referred to only as “Phase Two.”” He paused, “We have dealt a great blow to the First Order with the destruction of _Starkiller_ , yes. But if we act quickly, we can ensure that the First Order never regains the momentum it had.”

 

Ben watched his mother step forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with her brother, “We need to go through the information that’s here, and find which items are most crucial for us to address first.” She turned to one of the officers Ben recognized from the medical bay, “Statura, I trust you and your team can decrypt these if necessary?”

 

If Statura maintained the negative attitude he had towards Braeda that he had in the medical bay, he did an excellent job at concealing it, “Of course General, we’ll get on it straight away.”

 

“Thank you, Admiral.” She nodded in thanks before addressing the rest of the room, “The rest of us will provide whatever support you may need.” She made her way to the stack of datachips, “Let’s go, people!”

 

With that, the room erupted into what Ben could only describe as organized chaos, as the tidy stack shortly vanished into the hands of Statura and a few other officers as they followed their general from the room.

 

As the various officers of the Resistance began to trickle from the room to decrypt Braeda’s sensitive intel, Ben quickly realized that it was all too soon that the only remaining occupants were his uncle and himself. Even his mother had been whisked away in the tides of war planning, and though he was no longer a boy hiding behind the bastion of his mother, he desperately wished for her presence.

 

Anything to avoid facing his uncle alone.

 

It took all of Ben’s willpower to hold his head up in the face of his uncle, to not cower in the presence of the man whom he had betrayed to the utmost of his ability.

 

“Ben.”

 

Looking into uncle Luke’s piercing blue eyes had always been difficult for Ben, even before—

 

“Do not let your guilt consume you, Ben.” Luke’s voice was gentle, always so gentle, as he laid his mechanical hand on Ben’s shoulder.

 

Ben shook his head, “I’m—”

 

“I know.”

 

“Please, let me say it at least.” Ben whispered, “I’m so sorry, Uncle. I know it doesn’t make up for —for everything.”

 

There was a brief instant in which Ben could feel his uncle’s grief, his heartbreak, as he remembered the night in question. But it was gone before Ben could even fully experience it, released to the Force, no doubt. Then, Luke looked up into Ben’s eyes, his blue eyes glassy with unshed tears.

 

“The fact that you are here, now, means infinitely more to me than words could ever convey.” He whispered, “I’m so sorry, Ben.”

 

“Why are you apologizing?” Ben shook his head, looking away from his uncle.

 

Luke’s flesh hand grasped Ben’s chin and, with more strength than one would expect from the older man, turned Ben’s face back to look at him, “I’m sorry that I made you feel like I wasn’t there for you…that I couldn’t protect you from Snoke…”

 

Ben didn’t answer his uncle. Honestly, what could he say to Luke that the other man didn’t already know? And, if he was honest with himself, thinking of Snoke—thinking of Snoke brought up emotions that he no longer wanted to feel.

 

_He always hated it when Mommy and Daddy left him behind with uncle Luke. They kept saying it was for his Jedi training, but he couldn_ _’t help but feel…abandoned._

_Not that it was all bad. He got to play with Braeda when the older boy had free time from his training, and sometimes uncle Luke would let him in on some of the trainings with the padawans (though he would often get bored of the constant meditation)._

_But being the only youngling in Uncle Luke_ _’s temple was lonely, especially since Braeda was the only one who would play with him, who didn’t treat him differently for being uncle Luke’s nephew._

_He was sure the other padawans didn_ _’t like him. And so he found himself, as he so often did, alone by the cliffside, tossing tiny rocks off the ledge to the water below. He liked to see how far he could send the little pebbles before they would disappear into the dark water._

_“Very impressive.”_

_Startled by the voice, Ben started, nearly stumbling down the rocky cliffs, though his reflexes saved him from the unfortunate fate. Overcoming his surprise, Ben turned to look at his unexpected guest._

_He was, in a word, hideous.The skin that stretched over the head and face of the man (was it a man?) held the tell-tale pale and papery characteristics of burn scarred flesh. And even through the marred skin, Ben could see deep gouging scars that cut through the top of his head, his cheek, and even his jaw. The newcomer_ _’s nose, which no doubt may have been prominent and distinguished in another life, was now broken, crooked, and there were obvious chunks of it missing._

_“I understand that my appearance can be quite frightening.” The stranger spoke softly._

_Ben, not to be labeled_ _“frightened” of anything, puffed out his chest, “I’m not scared of you.”_

_“Nor should you be, I mean you no harm.” The stranger nodded, walking slowly to a large rock and sitting._

_Not convinced, Ben pressed forth,_ _“Who are you?”_

_The stranger chuckled softly,_ _“I am much like you: a lonely and abandoned soul.”_

_That had Ben frowning,_ _“I’m not abandoned, or lonely.”_

_“But where are your parents then, young man?” The man’s tone was not one of condescension, merely curiosity. “Surely they haven’t let you wander off on your own.”_

_In the back of his mind, Ben knew it was none of the man_ _’s business whether he played alone by the cliffs or up a tree or with a Rathtar. But that certainly didn’t stop him from answering, “Mommy and Daddy had to leave for important work…”_

_“More important than you?” Came the soft reply._

_“Well—yes…” Ben nodded, though a bit more uncertain. He didn’t quite understand the words his Mommy would mention in conversation with hid Daddy and uncle Luke; sure, he recognized words like “empire” and “imperial” were always said with a frown, meaning they were bad…but then again, the words “senate,” “republic,” and “democracy” were often mentioned with frowns._

_Ben_ _’s attention was pulled from his thoughts at the disapproving tch that sounded from the stranger across from him, “They are fools, to abandon you, when you are so much more important than that pitiful goals they hope to achieve off world.”_

_While there was a part of Ben_ _’s pride that swelled at being called important, he couldn’t simply ignore the slight against his parents, “They didn’t abandon me! They left me with uncle Luke!” He pouted his lips firmly, “I’m training to be a Jedi like him!”_

_“Ah…” The old man (and surely he was old, Ben assured himself) nodded in understanding, “And where is your uncle?”_

_Ben blinked,_ _“Well, he’s training the others—”_

_“And not you?”_

_“He trains me…” Ben protested weakly. “It’s just that he needs to work with the older students on their skills. He’s training a new generation of Jedi, and he says he doesn’t want the other students to think that he gives me special attention.”_

_“Ah, and so instead he gives you none.” The stranger peered at him with dark, piercing blue eyes, “Now if that isn’t the way of the Jedi…always blinded by their misguided “missions,” all the while, ignoring what is truly important,_ special _even._ _”_

_“What would you know of the Jedi?” Ben stamped his foot, ignoring the just how childish the gesture was._

_The ugly old man got a far off look in his eyes, looking not at Ben, but past him, as if he could see to a time Ben could not imagine,_ _“I know all too well the way of the Jedi, and I know the pains of being abandoned—no, betrayed, by a Jedi master.”_

_Ben, despite what he knew about his uncle and the stories of the Jedi, found himself intrigued by the man_ _’s bold statement. And, seeing Ben’s curious expression, the man continued, an burn-scarred hand reaching up to touch the scarred flesh of his face, “My master was all too willing to forsake my training for what he considered more noble causes. So many times, I was tossed aside for “the greater good”…” He trailed off as his thin fingers touched the scar on his cheek, “Until he abandoned me for good…left me for dead, to be burned alive…” The far off look vanished from the dark eyes, looking back at Ben, “But I survived, and I began to teach myself. And I am all the stronger for it.”_

_“A Jedi wouldn’t just…abandon his padawan…” Ben replied, though there was little…if any strength to his argument._

_“Did your uncle not lose both of his brief masters in the moments in which he needed them most?” Came the calm reply, “When your uncle was but a fledgling padawan, did Obi-wan not abandon him in a suicide duel with Darth Vader, even going so far as to force him to watch? And when he was facing a moral crossroads and needed the guidance of a master, did Yoda not leave him in death, releasing himself to the Force?”_

_“But death is different…” Ben shook his head, “Uncle Luke won’t abandon me like your master did!”_

_The man_ _’s scarred face took on a pitying, almost caring look, “For your sake, I certainly hope you are correct.” He murmured, “But…if you would like, I can teach you what I know, things your uncle has never even heard of, since I know you are already incredibly talented in the Force.”_

_Ben couldn_ _’t help but beam at the thought, “Really?”_

_“Of course.” Came the soft reply, “Someone as special as you should have the best training. And, despite my appearances, I’m no slouch in the ways of the Force.”_

_The thought of having an extra tutor was exciting. He could prove that he was just as good as the other students, regardless of age! He could show Braeda, maybe even teach_ him _instead of the other way around_ _…_

_But still_ _… “Can I ask a question?”_

_“Of course, Ben.”_

_He should have asked why the man knew his name. But he didn_ _’t, “Your master…the one who abandoned you…did my uncle know him?”_

_The man shook his head,_ _“No…I doubt your uncle, or much of anyone, has heard of my old master…not for many, many years…”_

_“What was his name?” Ben watched the stranger (was he still a stranger) with a growing sense of curiosity and intrigue._

_For a long while, only silence answered him, as blue eyes were once again staring off into the distant past, no doubt reliving troublesome memories. Ben was all too prepared to abandon his inquiry when the eyes turned their attention back to him, the darkness within them razor sharp._

_“Kanan.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [looks up at the end of the chapter] Whoops...um...sorry? I don't know what I can say about that one. I actually hadn't planned on that particular flashback for a few chapters, but it was rather demanding to be done, seeing as I cannot ignore Ben/Kylo forever.
> 
> So yes, Thanisson and Rodinon got some fluffy hurt/comfort (not a whole lot, but considering the fact I'm awful at writing any sort of romance, it's something), even if Braeda and Mitaka were still KO or otherwise out of commission. I promise one of them will "wake up" (haha, penpen, don't make jokes at two in the fucking morning) next chapter.
> 
> But you all know how much your comments give me and this story life. They've seriously been the thing that kept me going through the past four months and gave me the power to finish Sleeper, let alone start Dreamers. I know I probably say this way too often, but I couldn't do this without you all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [looks at wordcount] Holy shit, did I write that? Hopefully this makes up for the lack of post last week!

_There were many things that were well known about Commandant Brendol Hux: he was shrewd, calculating, and not one to allow ethical quandaries to hinder his pursuit of progress, of power. Those qualities had served him well in the Empire._

_At least, until the Empire had fallen. Though, in the Commandant_ _’s mind, it had only been an inconvenience, albeit a rather prolonged one. But a new generation was rising, and with it, new power._

_As he sat at his study desk, sipping on his Corellian brandy, the Commandant (for he was, and always would be, a commandant in his own mind) smirked at the thought of his beloved Academy, his brain child, and the fresh blood, powerful blood, it was already churning out._

_Fresh, power blood like his own._

_Brendol II was, if anything, his father_ _’s son. Top of his class, as if the Commandant would accept anything less. Though, the stress induced migraines the boy was prone to was a weakness the Commandant could have done without in his progeny. Flaw in the surrogate, no doubt. Too late to make any corrections on that front, but it was a weakness that would need to be squashed quickly, lest it hinder the boy’s ascent up the ranks in the First Order. He couldn’t afford to have days laid up in bed, like he was that day…_

_The Commandant was interrupted from his thoughts by his study door opening. No doubt Brendol had finally pulled himself together enough to be productive. The old officer turned in his chair to utter a scathing remark about his son_ _’s laziness, only to stop before a sound left his mouth._

_It was not his son._

_Perhaps, at first glance, and to a casual observer, it may have been easy to mistake the stranger and his son. Similar builds, the hair and eyes, the complexion— from a distance no one would have seen any differences. But the Commandant was not a casual observer. The young man standing in his study was slighter than Brendol, lacking his son_ _’s broader shoulders, he was a hair shorter, his hair longer, his hair fairer. And his face was marred with hideous freckles._

_“Who are you?” The Commandant frowned, standing from his desk. “How did you get in here?”_

“I’m your son.” _The stranger spoke with such calm authority, the Commandant was half tempted to believe him. But no, that was not his son._

_“No you’re not.” Setting down his brandy, the older man rounded to the other side of his desk. If this was his son’s idea of a prank, then he would sorely regret his lapse in discipline. He pressed the intercom on his desk, speaking directly into his son’s room, “Brendol, get in here, now!”_

_There was no response. Not even an acknowledgment that Brendol had even heard him. And the boy_ always _answered his father. Always._

_“Brendol!” He barked again at the intercom, his agitation rising. Damn that boy…._

“I’m right here, father.”

 

_The Commandant turned back to look at his son—no, not his son. The stranger._ _“You are not Brendol. Not in the slightest.” He glared at the intercom, then back at the stranger who had trespassed into his study, “What have you done to my son?”_

_The boy stepped forward and extended his hand, as if reaching out for something the Commandant couldn_ _’t see,_ “I _told_ you, _father._ ” _There was an icy layer of power to his voice that the Commandant found himself drawn to,_ “I. Am. Brendol.”

 

_The older man_ _’s head felt like it had been trapped in an airlock: feeling overwhelming pressure, yet simultaneously lost in endless vacuum. Why was he angry with his son? Such a petty thing to— no! That wasn’t his son…was it? After all, the family resemblance was there, and he certainly had the Commandant’s command of power. But no, something wasn’t right. “You’re not Brendol.”_

_Not Brendol seemingly flew across the study in an instant to stand in front of the Commandant. Callused hands grasped the officer_ _’s face in a vice grip and the Commandant could feel blood streaming down his nose in torrent. Unable to look away, the officer could see the powerful fury that had overcome his son’s eyes._

_“I AM BRENDOL NOW!”_

Braeda woke with a start, eyes bursting open sightlessly. It took him longer than he would have liked to realized that, no, he was not seventeen again, recently maimed and heartbroken. Nor was he that desperate teen who had broken a man’s mind for the sake of his ruse. He took several moments to realize that he was, in fact, no longer Hux at all.

 

Waking up in bacta had that effect on him.

 

But this time, he didn’t panic at being unable to feel his right arm— he knew it wasn’t there. At least now it was serving a better purpose than dead weight hanging from his shoulder. It was serving the Resistance…

 

There was work to be done with the information in his arm. Work that he would have to throw himself into with the same tenacity had had shown all of his previous endeavors. He would not fail the Resistance, General Organa, Master Skywalker…or the billions who might still be at the mercy of the First Order.

 

Master Skywalker was here now, as well.

 

“I hope the nightmares have only been a recent occurrence for you, Braeda.” Master Skywalker spoke softly, getting up from his place of meditation on the floor.

 

Braeda could only manage a slow, sluggish nod in the presence of his master. There was so much he wanted to do, now that his master was before him once more: voice his relief at seeing the older man hale and whole, speak of what he had accomplish in hopes of praise falling from his master’s lips, ask about the other man’s reunion with Ben and the rest of the family…or throw himself into his master’s arms and cling to him much like he had often done in his childhood.

 

None of which was possible while he floated in the bacta tank.

 

“Patience, Braeda, there will be time for all of that.” Master Skywalker murmured, stepping to the tank wall, “You still have your injuries to recover from, and while part of me should be proud of your mastery of Crucitorn, I’m also concerned for all the pain you have suffered.”

 

The pain was mild if it was the price he paid to have Ben back, to bring about the beginning of the end of the First Order.

 

“Yes, I suppose you are right, in the grand scheme of things.” Braeda could see a small spark in those blue eyes, a light he had not seen in over fifteen years. Master Skywalker pressed his flesh hand against the tank, smiling softly, “We have the information you smuggled in your arm. Leia has had her techs scour them all day, and would keep the up all night if I didn’t make her get some sleep.”

 

A small chuckle escaped the Jedi Master, and the light sound hung in the room comfortably. As the sound faded, Master Skywalker rested his forehead against the cool side of the bacta tank. A small, yet heavy breath escaped him.

 

“I am so happy to see you alive, Braeda. Especially after Snoke…” He whispered, “But I am also so _very_ proud of you…”

 

Oh, how Braeda had been so addicted to those words in his youth. To hear them was enough to make the pain of the ordeal worth it.

 

“Well let’s not have you in pain anymore, Braeda.” Skywalker shook his head, “You should get some more rest. I imagine, by the time you’re discharged from there, Leia will already be wanting to call a meeting for the next stage of the plan.”

 

Master was right, he usually was, and Braeda could already feel the niggling sensations exhaustion already begin to eat at his consciousness. With a peaceful sigh, released in sluggish bubbles through the bacta’s viscous matter, Braeda allowed his eyes to close once more. There was work to be done, and he would need all the strength he could muster. And so Braeda allowed his thoughts to leave him gently, allowing himself to float into dreamless oblivion.

 

* * *

 

 

Luke let loose a small sigh of relief as the door leading to Braeda’s bacta tank slid shut behind him. It was good to see his old padawan, especially since the younger man had even experienced a few moments of consciousness before returning to his rest.

 

He had done it. He had brought Ben back, and had ripped a massive, hemorrhaging hole in the First Order’s infrastructure. All on his own.

 

The old Jedi had to fight the pride swelling in his chest-- pride he had no right feeling. But he couldn’t help but feel pride for Braeda, bright and burning. He had never been able to help himself when it came to Braeda.

 

As he walked through the med bay, past the rows of beds with sleeping officers (and Luke really couldn’t help but chuckle at that--the Force was a devious one, to be sure), Luke noticed the three figures curled up in makeshift seats, serving as quiet (albeit sleeping) sentinels over the patients.  


Leia had told him about Poe Dameron, and just from the fondness of her voice during the brief mentions, Luke could tell he would like the pilot once they were formally introduced. No doubt there would be some stories to be shared over the adventures one could have in the cockpit of an X-wing.

 

Next to Dameron, resting his head on the pilot’s shoulder, was the young man that Leia had identified as Finn. A former Stormtrooper, how very interesting. How the First Order, and Ben--or rather Kylo Ren-- had failed to see the Force sensitivity in the young man was beyond Luke’s understanding. But Finn had not escaped Braeda’s notice, not that was any sort of surprise to the older Jedi.

 

There was that pride again, attempting to well in his chest. But he made no attempt to quell the emotion. He and his padawan had so much to discuss, once he was conscious. But, then again, he was sure there would be plenty who would demand Braeda’s attention upon his waking.

 

Such as the young woman, curled up in the small chair next to Finn and Dameron, hugging her knees to her chest as she rested her chin on her knee.

 

Rey.

  


_Cold rain pelted down upon his skin, chilling his skin  and causing his breaths to come in steamy huffs, but Luke couldn_ _’t bring himself to care-- he was already chilled to the bone, even before the rain had fallen._

_He couldn_ _’t decide what had turned his stomach more: the sight of his students, his wonderful, warm, hopeful students, sprawled out in lifeless, bloody heaps upon the earth, or the fact that their deaths had been at Ben’s hands._

_Ben...oh Ben, why? Why would he do this? Why would he heed the call of the dark side? Why hadn_ _’t he been able to protect his nephew--his beautiful, brilliant nephew-- from its sway?_

_Luke had long since lost track of whether it was the cold rain, or his hot tears, that soaked his cheeks. His voice was nearly gone after all the screaming, desperate sobs he had released into the stormy air. He couldn_ _’t feel much of anything anymore…_

_There was nothing left for Luke now, not at that temple. Logic dictated that he should not have returned after escaping Be-Kylo Ren, he should have never looked back. But he had to return—he had one last duty to his fallen students and, regardless of how miserably he had failed them as their teacher and guardian, he would see to their needs, one last time._

_  
His sobs had nearly redoubled their efforts as he carried the tiny bodies of his younglings into the temple, out of the rain. They were so small— they hadn_ _’t even begun to live yet— how could anyone, how could Ben, cut short a life such as these?_

_Even as he began to carry in the older padawans to their resting place, there was no weight heavier than the guilt that resided in Luke_ _’s gut. How had he not protected them? How had he not seen the danger looming? How could he have been so blind, so foolish?_

_Luke fell to his knees as he brought the last of his padawans out from the rain, barely having the presence of mind to gently lay the young teen next to her brothers and sisters. Maia had always been so full of life, her large pink eyes sparkling with the vibrancy of one who saw more than most—to see them staring at him, lifeless and dull_ _…Luke had to scramble away from the makeshift tomb before the contents of his stomach made a violent reappearance._

_He only returned when there was nothing left in his stomach, reaching a shaky hand out to close Maia_ _’s eyes for the last time. He made sure not to look too long at the scorched wound that cut across her abdomen—the smell was enough give him nightmares for the rest of his life._

_Part of Luke wanted to simply lie with the fallen bodies of his students, staying with them until the Force saw fit to take him as well. But he knew he couldn_ _’t, not if he wanted to stop any more tragedies from occurring. With slow and shaky legs, Luke stood to survey the nine bodies lain out side by side._

_Nine_ _…_

_Luke_ _’s heart skipped a beat— there had been twelve padawans in his temple. No, eleven: Ben could no longer be counted among his students. But still, there should have been eleven bodies lined up._

_Who had he missed?_

_He counted through the bodies again. There were only three of the younglings present: Rey was missing from them. But as his gaze moved over his older students, and the absence of red hair became apparent, Luke felt his heart clench even tighter._

_Braeda. Braeda was out there somewhere, alone. Luke couldn_ _’t leave him out there alone, not like this; he had promised Braeda he wouldn’t leave him—_

_Lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the somber temple and causing light to reflect from red-black pools that Luke knew had to be blood. There was a trail of it, he could tell that much, leading deeper into the temple, towards the dormitory._

_Then, he felt it._

_A flicker in the Force. It was weak, but it was there, and it was desperately trying to reach him._

_“Braeda!” Luke cried out, his feet carrying him down the corridor before he had even finished the name, “Rey!”_

_There was never a response, but that didn_ _’t stop Luke as he sprinted down the corridor, morbidly following the trail of blood and the desperate please of the Force, as he kept shouting their names, and his heart beat like a war drum in his ears._

_At least, until he stood in the doorway of the dormitory, and his heart stopped altogether._

_Braeda and Rey were together, with the older teen clutching Rey to his chest as they lie motionless on the floor. For a moment, Luke felt his spirit begin to break at the sight of their bodies. But then Rey picked up her head, and looked at him._

_There was blood smeared all over one side of Rey_ _’s cheek, and her hair and nightclothes were rumpled, but other than that…_

_“Rey!” Luke’s voice was a tortured croak as he stepped into the room, stumbling to the girl’s side._

_Rey didn_ _’t resist his embrace, as he clutched her tighter than anything he ever held before in his life. She was alive._

_“Brae hurt, fell down…” She mumbled against his neck, her eyes hazy and lacking their normally sharp focus, no doubt from the fever and lack of sleep._

_And he was glad for Rey_ _’s incoherency; he didn’t want her seeing Braeda. Especially after what he had suffered. Luke nearly gagged as his eyes drifted over the charred flesh of Braeda’s shoulder, where his arm had once begun. He couldn’t even see Braeda’s freckles under the thick layer of mud and blood that coated his skin, and his usually vibrant hair was now nearly black from blood._

_Luke didn_ _’t think about the wounds that served as the origin of all that blood. He couldn’t, not when it came to Braeda. Setting Rey aside gently, he knelt by Braeda’s side, daring to cradle the young man against his chest. Oh Braeda…_

_Seeing those soothing blue eyes open, swollen and blacked as they were, nearly brought tears of joy to Luke_ _’s eyes._

_“Master Skywalker…” Braeda began, his voice little more than a thick croak, “I’m so sorry…”_

_“You have nothing to be sorry for, Braeda.” Luke shook his head._

_“I tried to stop him…” A thick sheen of unshed tears welled in Braeda’s eyes, “I tried to…he wouldn’t listen…I’m so sorry, I couldn’t—” A wet cough cut off the padawan’s emotional words, and Luke was horrified to find that blood was gushing from his mouth in thick streams._

_“Hang on, Braeda.” Luke murmured, though he was unsure if the younger could hear his words over his own emotional ramblings. Picking up Braeda into a stable carry was not as easy as it had been in years past, but Luke was not about to fail his padawan now. “We’re going to get you help.”_

As Luke fought to escape his dark memories, dark eyes opened with a snap, turning to gaze at him, considering. Then, slowly, Rey moved from her makeshift nest, standing before him. She could nearly look him directly in the eye without so much as looking up. She had grown so much in his absence…

 

“Rey…” He breathed, reaching out hesitantly to cradle Rey’s face in his hands.

 

She didn’t resist his touch, even going so far as to lean in the warmth of Luke’s flesh hand subconsciously, and Luke allowed himself a moment of intimacy as his thumb drifted over her cheeks. She still had traces of the faint freckles that had once graced her cheeks. They had never been as bad as Braeda’s had once been, but Luke had always found them adorable.

They stood like that, Luke cradling Rey’s face in his hands and Rey looking into Luke’s eyes intently, for several moments.

 

Finally, she spoke.

 

“It’s true then?” She whispered, “I was…I was one of your students?”

 

Luke nodded slowly, still stroking her cheek gently, “You were, and you were a bright one, at that.”

 

Rey took a deep breath, and her eyes drifted shut for a brief moment, before she opened them once more, “Part of me doesn’t want to believe this…any of it. I’m just a scavenger, a nobody.” She breathed, “All of this—this wild adventure— doesn’t just happen out of the blue to people.”

 

“You would be surprised.” Luke felt a smile tug on his lips. It was a tired gesture, an out of practice one, but he was enjoying being able to smile more.

 

Rey blinked rapidly, and Luke could see tears beginning to well in her eyes, “I know…but I’ve also been having these… _feelings_ , and I don’t know what they mean.”

 

“That is the Force, Rey.” Luke nodded sagely, “No doubt your previous training has awaken from the…excitement of the past few days.”

 

Rey shook her head, “I wish I could remember.”

 

“I know.” He sighed gently, “Braeda has always been skilled with his use of the Force, especially when it comes to its use over the mind. He covered your memories of your time at the temple, of that night, because you kept having nightmares…you kept screaming out in horror…” He hung his head, his stomach churning at the thought of the terrified girl’s sobs.

 

“What happened?” Rey whispered, “Please…I know Braeda is the one who knows the most, but can’t you…can’t you help me?”

 

“I could.” The Jedi master replied, lifting his head gently to meet her gaze once more. He did not say more, but the question that had gone unsaid hung heavily in the air between them.

 

Did she trust him?

 

Rey, after a long, shaky breath, nodded. And Luke, mimicking her nervous gesture, leaned his forehead to touch hers.

 

 

_“Rey!” Luke’s desperate cries at the sight of the small girl._

_“Brae hurt, fell down…” Rey’s own sleepy, confused voice_

_Braeda_ _’s broken, bloody body on the ground, missing an arm and barely clinging to life._

_“Master Skywalker…I’m so sorry…”_

_“You have nothing to be sorry for, Braeda.”_

_“I tried to stop him…I tried to…he wouldn’t listen…I’m so sorry, I couldn’t—” Blood. So much Blood_

_“Hang on, Braeda.”_

_Luke couldn_ _’t carry Braeda fast enough down the corridor, nor could he afford to look back to ensure Rey was following him. Any moments spent waiting could be Braeda’s last._

_“Why they sleeping?”_

_The sound of Rey_ _’s confused voice caused Luke to look down at the little girl at his side. But Rey was not at his side, in fact, she was not even looking at Luke._

_She was looking at the line of broken bodies, already making her way over to her fallen brothers and sisters._

_“Don’t look, Rey!” Luke snapped, his blood frozen in his veins._

_It took a none-too-gentle tug with the Force to bring Rey back to Luke_ _’s side, though the shrill sounds of Rey’s emotional and exhausted screams cut through the core of his being._

_“WHY WON’T THEY WAKE UP?”_

When Luke finally pulled away, there were tears trailing down Rey’s cheeks, and Luke couldn’t tell if the wetness on his own cheeks was from her or not.

 

“He killed them…” Rey sobbed quietly, her hands grasping at Luke’s shoulders tightly, “All of them…”

 

“Yes Rey.” Luke nodded shakily, using all his strength to keep his voice from cracking, “But you and Braeda lived…”

 

“But why did you send me away?” Rey shook her head, stepping out of Luke’s grasp, “You just…left me…”

 

Luke sighed, rubbing his tired eyes, “Snoke and the First Order were out for my blood, Rey. If I brought you with me, I would have done nothing but put your life in danger.”

 

“Then why leave me alone on Jakku?” There was so much hurt emanating from Rey…so much pain, “Why did you just…leave me?”

 

He frowned at her words, “Jakku?” Though he knew, both from her expression and from the Force, that she was telling the truth, he couldn’t help but wonder at her words, “When I left to go into hiding, Leia and I entrusted your care to a family of Republic sympathizers, we knew them well. And…we had—I had always intended to come for you when it was safe.”

 

“Then why—”

 

“I don’t know, Rey.” He sighed, his shoulders sagging tiredly, “I wish I could give you more—we may never know what happened, or you may need to uncover those memories on your own.”

 

“Will you help me?”

 

He watched her for a moment, surveying her expression. Rey was a woman who had suffered a lot of hurt in her few years of life, she had been forced to become a survivor in ways most couldn’t even imagine. But, looking into those dark eyes of hers, Luke could see the spark of determination, brighter than most stars as it burned in her gaze. It was comforting that, for all that had changed about Rey, Luke could still see the little girl that had been his youngling.

 

“I will.” He nodded, “If you are willing…we can begin your training anew, and reacquaint you with the Force.”

 

* * *

 

 

For many in the First Order who served under General Hux, the general consensus was that Hux, despite his age, was one of the rare types who simply radiated power. Most used the phrase figuratively.

 

Mitaka had come to see it literally.

 

When he had first seen General Hux on his first day aboard the Finalizer, he could remember his breath catching in his throat at the sight. As the general stood, overseeing the goings on of the bridge, Mitaka could see the powerful…something that hovered around the older man’s entire being. It wasn’t a smoke of any sort, or steam, yet it formed a haze around Hux, distorting the light around him ever so slightly. Vaguely, it reminded Mitaka of mirages brought on by great heat. But it was mesmerizing.

 

He knew better than to say anything about what he saw. If he reported that his vision of the general was out of sort, his eyes would be checked…he couldn’t have that.

 

And so he watched.  


The haze was always there. Most of the time, it was just a thin layer that simmered around the general. But there were other times in which that haze would flare, and it would distort the light surrounding Hux even more drastically.  


There were even instances in which Hux’s haze would even reach out and touch others. Usually just wisps that would circle around the heads of the other person before dissipating, but once, Mitaka had seen the haze envelope a ‘trooper entirely and didn’t completely dissipate. Though...considering the fate of that ‘trooper, he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.  


Mitaka had never seen anything like it.  


Until Kylo Ren came on board the Finalizer.  


While the presence that surrounded Hux was mesmerizing, whatever the...thing was, that enveloped the Knight of Ren, it was nothing short of terrifying. The haze didn’t shimmer, it blazed, so much so that Mitaka feared it might ignite from the Knight’s rage alone. And when it spread to others, it was a smothering presence-- all consuming, and usually fatal to the other party.

 

The first time that haze wrapped itself around his own throat, Mitaka feared that his death was sure to follow. When he failed to die, and even walked out of Medical with only slight brushing (no, he did not need a full physical evaluation, thank you), to say he was surprised would have been an understatement. As he was the second time it occurred. By the third time, Mitaka had just come to accept that he was simply sturdier than most (though he refused to entertain the notion that the trait was the result of his...inferior genetics).  


And so he took it upon himself to face Kylo Ren in the stead of officers who would no doubt not have fared as well against the Knight’s rage. The haze around Ren still horrified him with the intensity that Hux’s captivated him.  


It wasn’t until after _Starkiller_ , after defecting, kidnapping Hux for leverage, and Hux’s sudden confession that Mitaka had realized just what the haze around the two meant.  


_“Because I’m a Jedi!”_  
  


_Mitaka could feel his blood run cold at the mention of Jedi. How had he not seen it before? That haze, that mesmerizing, terrifying haze_ _…that was the dark magic they both possessed._  
  


_“You son of a bitch.” Mitaka growled, hoping his gruff tone would mask his apprehension as he gripped his blaster all the tighter. “You’re a Force-user…I should have known…” The last bit was more to himself than anything else._  
  


_Had they not been hunting down Luke Skywalker for fear of the man reviving the cult of the Old Republic: warriors with the ability to wield unspeakable power, terrifying power? As if the Knights of Ren, and their master, Kylo Ren, weren_ _’t frightening enough—the thought of an entire army of the cultists was enough to induce nightmares._  
  


_And Hux was a follower of that nightmare._  
  


_Hux snorted, the gesture rather unlike the usually well put together general,_ _“There was no way you would have known, Mitaka.” He drawled lowly, barely acknowledging Mitaka’s blaster. And why should he? Kylo Ren had no fear of blasters, with the power he wielded in his fingertips. And Hux was no different._  
  


_The former lieutenant shook his head,_ _“There was always something off about you, Hux. Especially when you were around Ren…should have figured it would have been the same damn thing.”_  
  


_Everything made sense, then, why Hux hadn_ _’t even bothered to put up any sort of fight, why he had surrendered without even a word of resistance. He had given them the illusion of control the entire time, all the while he still maintained the power to destroy each and every one of them, one arm and all._  
  


_Even after everything they had done to desperately try and escape, they were all still at Hux_ _’s mercy._

Mitaka hadn’t been able to dwell too long on Hux’s Jedi affiliations, though apparently he loathed being compared to Kylo Ren, as they were apparently different in a way Mitaka could not see. None of them had, between being attacked by Knights of Ren, his own filthy heritage being revealed, and nearly dying at the hands of a homicidal Knight of Ren.

 

It wasn't until after being rescued by the Resistance, after waking up blind, and having a chance to reflect on the events of the past few days that Mitaka realized he truly missed his sight.

 

Even if it meant seeing that ominous haze.

 

“I see you’re doing well, my dear.” There was that voice, not Rough Hands, softer, “You’ve recovered quickly from your wounds. On your right.”

 

Mitaka could vaguely envision the voice’s body, female perhaps, though he couldn’t be sure, he could only imagine a shape to the right of his bed, and only that after being informed of her position. He hated the state he had been forced to be in; cut off  almost completely from his own senses. His touch was muted, barely able to distinguish comfortable touches from uncomfortable, he couldn’t smell--despite knowing he was supposed to be in a medical bay with its various odors, he couldn’t remember even eating, let alone tasting anything. And hearing...he could only hear voices, and sometimes other sounds from the human throat, and even then, he couldn’t tell where the sounds came from, not unless the speaker told him and he could form the image in his mind. The image of the medical bay, given to him by Rough Hands, was more or less the only bearing he had to his existence.

 

Mitaka started at the sudden sensation at his temple-- comfort, not discomfort.

 

“Sorry about that.” Soft Voice commented, “I forgot to tell you, I’ll be removing your bandages, my hands are at your right temple.” A chuckle, “It’s been awhile since I’ve had a Keshian in my care.”

 

“Not Keshian…” Mitaka murmured, though the protest was weak in his throat. If they removed his implants, there would be nothing hiding his mixed heritage.

 

Soft Voice only hummed, “Bandages are crossing your face now.” She replied, “Now I should warn you, your eyes will need some adjustment to full sight again. Captain Arana was kind enough to bring a salve for your eyes-- he said it would help with the strain.”

 

Mitaka’s response, as ill-formed as it was, was caught in his throat as the bandages were removed, and his eyes blinked open for the first time in...well, he didn’t know how long.

 

Light. So much light; so much color. Too much. It burned. But no matter how much it burned, Mitaka couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes. He wouldn’t go back into the dark, he couldn’t.

 

“Careful, careful.” Soft Voice, who Mitaka could now clearly see was indeed female, murmured, grabbing a jar from the tray next to his bedside, “Let’s put some of this on, hopefully that will lessen the stress on your eyes.”

 

Logically, Mitaka knew the contents of the jar was no doubt the salve provided by Captain Arana, whoever that may be. But all his eyes could see, from the myriad of color and light all fighting for his attention, was black sludge that looked more like plasma waste by-product than any medical supply. He did not want that anywhere near his eyes.

 

Not that Soft Voice gave him much of a choice. She was Soft Voice, not Soft Grip. Before Mitaka had even a chance to protest, the black sludge had been smeared across his eyes, and his blinking only served to spread the salve completely across his sensitive eyeballs.  


And the flurry of aggressive lights and colors stopped. Sure, he could still see them, but they were no longer fighting for dominance over his retinas. And he could still see…  


Mitaka let loose the breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding. “...Thank you.” He murmured, refusing to let his manners slip away from him, “I apologize if I’ve been a difficult patient.”

  
Soft Voice (he really would need to learn her name) chuckled softly, “Hardly, I wish all my patients were as subdued as you. I had to sedate Captain Arana last time he was in here, and Commander Dameron always tries to leave before I discharge him.”

 

He didn’t respond, mainly because he had no idea who she was referring to.

 

The kind looking woman pat his shoulder gently, “I’ll check in on you in a bit. I need to check on my other patients.” And, to Mitaka’s relief, Soft Voice didn’t require a response from him before moving away from his bedside, a small medical droid following her.

 

Once the doctor had left him to his own devices, Mitaka scanned the room, taking in its various facets and fixtures. Supplies seemed to overflow from one surface to another, out of date medical droids were tending to the needs of wounded officers, and it seemed the instruments in use were a hodge-podge mix of various different builds and types—some didn’t even appear to be standard for humans. It was a damn mess— at least, compared to the med bays on board the _Finalizer_ and _Starkiller_. But, then again, he shouldn’t exactly be holding the Resistance to the standards of the First Order. He doubted they would appreciate that.

 

As Mitaka drew his attention from the room itself and instead to it’s occupants, his gaze fell to the bed across from him, to the only other occupant who seemed to be awake.

 

Petty Officer Thanisson was not someone with whom Mitaka had been well acquainted with while serving the First Order. Sure, he had known him— one of the few officers in the hangar bay who had survived when FN-2187 had gone rogue and shot the command deck, it was hard not to know him— but they had hardly taken meals together in the mess. But there were few things that bonded individuals quite like committing high treason together.

 

The young man was sitting up in his bed, his bed moved to a propped position and a bored, melancholy expression on his soft features. For some reason, Rodinon had his head in Thanisson’s lap, and the petty officer was carding his fingers through the lieutenant’s auburn hair slowly, methodically, without even looking.

 

He raised an eyebrow, “…Did I miss something while I was out?”

 

Thanisson gave Mitaka an exasperated look, “Where do I kriffin’ begin?” He sighed, settling in his pillows awkwardly, “I thought you were awake when Skywalker was here?”

 

Mitaka blinked, “When was that?”

 

“When the alarms were blaring this morning, just after that rude astromech told me…well, when it told me off.” Thanisson shook his head, “You remember that, don’t you?”

 

He did remember Thanisson speaking, to an R2 unit (though he only knew that because Thanisson had said so). But the cacophony that had followed had been far too much for Mitaka to piece together in his mind’s eye, he hadn’t been able to process all the voices and their locations, let alone attempt to decipher their meaning.

 

Apparently his mind was still trying to catch up with him, as Thanisson’s works finally clicked with their meaning. Skywalker… “Skywalker was here?”

 

Thanisson nodded, pointing to the doorway in the back of the room, “He was right in that room, looking at Hux, from the look of it.” He ran his free hand through his hair, attempting to clear it from his eyes, “Walked right past all of our beds…”

 

Mitaka resisted the urge to smooth his own hair back, despite it desperately needing the guidance. It was a sloppy habit to fall into. But Mitaka couldn’t think about his hair for more than a moment, too keen on Thanisson’s information.

 

“Was he—” He stopped, unsure how to finish his question: ‘was he scary?’ ‘was he as dangerous as we were told?’ ‘was he at all the monster the First Order painted him to be?’

 

He needn’t have bothered, as Thanisson gave Mitaka an understanding nod, “Honestly…he’s strange. No terrifyingly so, just…so ordinarily strange.” He shook his head, “You really couldn’t hear the conversations?”

 

Mitaka shook his head in return, “I couldn’t…piece it together. It was all just noise to me, I couldn’t even distinguish words.”

 

Thanisson watched him for a moment before continuing, “Well, apparently he broken into the base, and this med bay, just to watch Hux sleep in a bacta tank.”

  
That caused Mitaka to stare at the petty officer incredulously.

 

“Sounds ridiculous, I know.” Thanisson murmured, “But then, what about this situation isn’t ridiculous?”

 

“Fair enough.” Mitaka nodded. The petty officer shuddered slightly before looking away, piquing Mitaka’s curiosity, “What is it?”

 

Thanisson shook his head, “Your eyes, they’re…difficult to get used to. And it doesn’t help that they’re all black and oozy now.”

 

Right. His eyes. With all the talk of Skywalker, he had forgotten the entire reasoning behind him being blind for who knew how long. There was no hiding his heritage now, he couldn’t pretend to be normal. He knew that; it was the accepting portion that would take some getting used to.

 

“What color are they?” Such a stupid, naive question to ask, but he hadn’t been able to help himself.

 

The blond’s brow furrowed, “You don’t know what color your eyes are?”

 

“I haven’t seen them without the implants since I was a young child.”

 

“Ah.” Thanisson nodded slowly, though Mitaka couldn’t tell if it was in understanding or simple acknowledgment, “Well, I would guess and say they’re a steely color, though I didn’t get a good look when we were trying not to die on that backwater planet, and I can’t see the color now because of that gunk you’ve got smeared there.”

 

Mitaka fell silent. He knew he shouldn’t have asked, what had been the point in asking such a thing? It wasn’t as if it was something crucial for their survival. No doubt it had been sentiment that had prompted him, a fat lot of good that would do him in this situation. He needed to learn more, figure out what his next move should be, or at least what his prospects were.

 

“So…Skywalker?” The non sequitur was sloppy at best, and they both knew it. Though, Thanisson was gracious enough to not comment on it.

 

“He just looked like any old man, really, even if he was dressed like a hermit.” The petty officer turned his attention back to Rodinon’s hair, ruffling it gently, “Though he and General Organa seemed to be on relatively familiar terms—she swore at him a lot, then he hugged her. I know—” Thanisson raised a hand to cut off Mitaka when he had opened his mouth to speak. “But they  were definitely close with each other.”

 

Mitaka nodded, “From what I remember of my Imperial history, Skywalker once rescued Organa from Imperial custody while on board the Death Star.” He pondered the fact. In hindsight, that tidbit of history made FN-2187’s defection and escape with a prisoner seem nearly pedestrian.

 

“He’s been in here a couple times, just to watch Hux.” Thanisson continued, “Him and this other man.”

 

“Other man?”

 

The petty officer hummed low in his throat, “Yeah, he was one of the men who rescued us...though you wouldn’t have known that, since you were unconscious at the time.”

 

From his resting place in Thanisson’s lap, Rodinon yawned slowly, not opening his eyes, “Are you talking about that tall guy with the…” He gestured sleepily to his nose, causing Mitaka to raise an eyebrow.

 

Thanisson snorted, “Yes, the one with the nose.” He rolled his eyes at the older man’s sleep befuddled antics.

 

Rodinon didn’t seem to mind Thanisson’s response, as he merely adjusted his position in the petty officer’s lap, “That’s Hux’s lover, you know.”

 

That was the last thing Mitaka had expected to hear, which was saying something, considering the situation. And, judging by the way Thanisson stiffened at Rodinon’s words, it was news to him as well.

 

“Hux’s lover?” Thanisson asked, “Are you sure?”

 

Rodinon nodded, “Mhmmm, I saw them kiss just before we arrived at this base. They even had this little hushed conversation of sweet nothings, and the guy even carried Hux off like it was some cheap romantic holovid…” The lieutenant let loose a long yawn, dropping back off to sleep, “...Hux has a nice smile…” The words trailed off, and Mitaka could tell that Rodinon had returned to slumber.

 

Thanisson huffed, “Rodinon, you can’t just say things like that, then fall back asleep.” He flicked the red head’s ear, to no avail.

 

“I didn’t realize Rodinon could sleep like the dead.” Mitaka commented blandly.

 

“Yeah, he’s been like this more or less all day.” Thanisson sighed softly, returning to his previous habit of playing with Rodinon’s hair, “Yesterday, he was in for questioning, and he spent all last night in a supply closet. I don’t think he slept a wink.”

 

“Supply closet?”

 

“Apparently, the Resistance doesn’t take prisoners.”

 

He could believe that. Even before this whole fiasco had begun, Mitaka had believed the Resistance took no prisoners...though the phrase had carried an entirely different connotation at the time.

 

Now…

 

Now, Mitaka was just hoping that there would be a time, soon, when he wouldn’t be so damn confused the whole time.

* * *

 

 

It felt good to be out of the bacta tank. Sure, the initial bacta withdrawals were unpleasant, but they were easy to overcome. And Braeda was happy to suffer then if it meant he could walk around under his own free power, move about as he wished, and regain a semblance of freedom.

 

Even if he was now sitting in an empty war room, ordered not to leave…and he was pretty sure the door was locked.

 

He shook his head, busying himself with brushing nonexistent dust from his “new” clothes. The shirt was too large for him, especially with an empty sleeve tied off in knot, and the pants were not of the same soft quality as his First Order uniform. But he couldn’t exactly complain—he’d take rough freedom over comfortable slavery any day.

 

He sighed, letting his eyes close, not so much in rest— he had plenty of that— but to gather his thoughts.

 

General Organa had told him that the major leaders of the Resistance would be meeting here soon. They had gone over the information he had brought them. They were going to form a plan for the First Order’s destruction.

 

It was all he could do to keep his impatience from bubbling to the surface.

 

“It’s a shame not everyone can feel your eagerness, Braeda.”

 

Blinking his eyes open, the redhead turned his attention to the form of Master Skywalker, who had no trouble in opening the war room door (or perhaps it had not been locked at all).

 

“Master Skywalker…” Braeda breathed, slowly getting to his feet.

 

The older Jedi made his way across the room, his steps as slow and sure as they always were, commanding peaceful power with each movement. When the two men were standing only feet from one another, both paused, merely taking the moment to observe the other, drinking in their features.

 

Then, Master Skywalker closed the gap between them, wrapping his arm around the former general in a tight embrace.

 

“I’m so happy that you’re alright.” He murmured in Braeda’s ear.

 

With only his one arm to embrace the older man, Braeda’s embrace was nowhere near as strong, “It’s so good to see you, Master.” He whispered. And it was. He had so desperately missed his master, and it was so tempting to surrender himself completely to his master’s warm hold, rest his head against the man’s shoulder as he had done so often in his childhood, and pretend the worries of the world were a figment of his imagination.

 

But he couldn’t. There was work to be done, and so, reluctantly, Braeda released his hold of his master, and stepped back. “We have so much to discuss.”

 

“Indeed.” Master Skywalker nodded as the two of them found a comfortable place to sit, “Though I would very much like to hear about the adventure of the past few days. I have only been able to gather bits and pieces of the story, but you know how I prefer to have the full story.”

 

Braeda smiled. He did know. And he couldn’t help himself when it came to recounting the tale of his downfall as General Hux, from sending FN-2187 to rescue the Resistance pilot, to the ordeal he suffered with the defecting First Order officers.

 

“That one officer, the partial Keshian—” Master Skywalker shook his head, “It was through the Grace of the Force that he was not aware of the workings of the Force, or he would have seen through your ruse.”

 

“I know.” Braeda sighed, running his good hand through his hair, “And I never once suspected there might be something off about him until he had me right where he wanted me.”

 

“Well you’re safe now.” The Jedi master smiled softly, “Now…about this former Stormtrooper of yours. I take it you—”

 

“Felt the Force about him?” Braeda matched his master’s smile, “I did. I know it isn’t very strong now, but Finn will make a great pupil for you, Master.” Braeda nodded slowly, already imagining the kind of Jedi Finn might become under Master Skywalker’s tutelage.

 

There was a long pause in which Master Skywalker did not speak, though the silence was comfortable between them. He had forgotten how much he missed contemplative silences between comrades—in the First Order, responses were always prompt and firm, with no time for simple reflection—

 

“No.”

 

The simple word jarred Braeda from his musings. Blinking, he turned to look at the older man, “I’m sorry?”

 

Master Skywalker shook his head, “No, I will not take Finn as my padawan.”

 

“I don’t understand.” Braeda shook his head, “You felt the Force within him—”

 

“I did.”

 

“—it can become so very strong under your teachings.” Braeda turned to face his master, resisting the urge to grasp the man’s hand with his own. It had to be a mistake, surely Master Skywalker did not truly mean to reject the former Stormtrooper.

 

“Perhaps, but I will not teach him.”

 

Braeda grit his teeth, “You’re making a mistake, _Master._ _”_ He bit out, “If it’s because of his age, or because he used to be a Stormtrooper, I can assure you—”

 

“Braeda…”

 

“—his loyalty to the First Order is finished. He helped destroy _Starkiller—_ _”_

“Braeda.”

 

“—I just don’t understand why you won’t even give him the chance—”

  
“Braeda, if you would give me the chance to speak, perhaps I could enlighten you.” Master Skywalker replied dryly, an unspoken stern quality to his voice. It was enough to cause Braeda’s blusterous rant to peter out and die.

 

The former general bowed his head in deference to the Jedi master. “My apologies…” He murmured weakly. “Forgive me, Master.”

 

“You’re forgiven.” Master Skywalker nodded slowly, looking back toward the back doorway, still silence in its dormancy, “But, as I was saying, I will not teach Finn…because you will be teaching him.”

 

The words took a moment to register in Braeda’s mind, “What?” He shook his head, “But Master, I—”

 

“Braeda.” The Jedi master cur him off, “You have spent the past fifteen years as a mole, deep in the ranks of the enemy, with nothing but your wits and the Force to keep you alive. You not only survived the ordeal, but you discovered another Force sensitive, helped him escape, brought Ben back to the Light— when even I had lost hoped— and have begun the chain reaction that could very well end the First Order once and for all.” A fond smile stretched across the older man’s face, “If any ordeal could be counted as a Trial, Braeda, it is one such as that.”

 

Braeda felt all the moisture in his mouth seemingly evaporate instantaneously, “But Master—”

 

“I believe, Braeda, that the time for you to be calling me “Master” has past.” He nodded firmly, his mechanical hand resting on Braeda’s shoulder, “And now the cycle will continue, and you will be called “Master” by your own padawan.”

 

If ever there was a time that Braeda’s heart may have stopped from sheer shock, that would have been the moment. Him, no longer a padawan? Him, a Jedi Knight? Him, take on a padawan of his own? “Master, I—”

 

“I am no longer your master, Braeda.” A chuckle came from the Jedi master, “I believe you may call me Luke now.”

 

“Right, Luke,” And oh, did the word sound so foreign on his tongue… “I can’t take on a padawan. I don’t know the first thing about padawans.”

 

Luke rolled his eyes, “And you think I did, when I first took you on as my apprentice?” He shook his head, “My knowledge of the Force and the Jedi way came from the teachings of two old masters, both of whom died before I could complete any sort of formal training, and what I could glean from the records of every old Jedi temple I found.” He smiled softly, “If anything…you’ll be twice the master I ever was.”

 

“But why me?” The words were out before he could stop them.

 

“Because you know him, Braeda.” Luke replied quickly, “Could I teach Finn, and shape him into a Jedi? I could—I could probably teach him and Rey together and they would both be good Jedi. But Braeda, you _know_ him. You two already have a bond.”

 

“What bo—”

 

The mech hand raised to cut Braeda off mid-word, “The First Order, Braeda. You know the horrors that Finn has faced, you watched him suffer through them.” Luke shook his head at the thought, “You will know what Finn needs more than any other person in the galaxy, maybe even more than Finn himself.”

 

Braeda shook his head, “But there needs to be trust between a master and his padawan, and there is no way Finn could ever trust me.”

 

“You know, I can remember a time when I used to think the same thing about you. But you eventually warmed up to me.”

 

“That was different.” Braeda glared halfheartedly at his old master.

 

Luke only smirked, “Is it, though? Is it really?”

 

Braeda wanted to argue that yes, the situations had nothing in common. But as the past few minutes of their conversation had proved, he could never win an argument with Luke Skywalker, much to his annoyance.

 

* * *

 

 

Ben hated not knowing where he was going. His years as Kylo Ren had allowed him to grow accustomed to prowling the various star destroyers of the First Order with an air of confidence that had those around him quivering in fear.

 

Being led around by his mother to ensure he did not get lost was probably the worst feeling after being accustomed to such confidence.

 

On the bright side, acting as his mother’s shadow had its own perks, namely that he had a front row view of the progress being made on the data brought in from Braeda’s arm.

 

And, if Ben was honest with himself, the amount of information being process was dumbfounding. Sure, he knew some of the details from being Kylo Ren, but the sheer mass of the inner workings of the First Order…it made Ben’s stomach churn, now that he was free of the dark side and being affiliated with the military junta.

 

“I think we have it all.” His mother murmured, “It’s time to move forward, bring in the rest of the leaders.”

 

“Back to the war room, I take it?” Ben replied softly as the two of them exited the domain of admiral Statura.

 

She nodded, hands clasped behind her back as they walked down the corridor, “So, Ben…what do you think?”

 

“Besides wondering how the First Order grew to be so large without raising alarm with anyone?” He shook his head, rubbing his tired eyes. It had been a long day, but he had a feeling it was only the beginning.

 

His mother snorted, “You and I both know how it managed to grow to the size it did: people didn’t want to see a problem.” She rolled her eyes as they turned a corner, “Those who had the power to stop the First Order in its infancy turned a blind eye and hoped the problem would go away. As if that tactic has ever worked.”

 

Ben snorted. Well, she certainly wasn’t wrong. It certainly made things easier for the First Order when no one bothered to stand in their way. The Republic had been too busy with bickering among themselves, and the Resistance only had so much man power (though, to be fair, they certainly had done an excellent job with what few resources they had).

 

“I suppose that’ll change now…” Ben muttered. “People can’t ignore what’s happened the past few days.”

 

“You’d be surprised.” His mother replied bitterly, “But, if we can act quickly enough, we won’t give anyone the chance to try and forget the horrors of the First Order.”

 

He certainly didn’t doubt his mother’s tenacity, or the determination of the Resistance. It was quite amazing, what a person or group could accomplish if they only had the drive to do so…

 

As they walked down the corridors, Ben put his hand in his pocket, and he could feel his fingers brushing the small digit that he had tucked away from Braeda’s arm. He hadn’t peeled away the silicate encasing the gears, so he hadn’t had the chance to even see the data held there. But, even if he had, he doubted he would have viewed the information there— if Braeda wanted him to see, then he would share. After everything Ben had done, the least he owed Braeda was a bit of privacy when it was asked of him.

 

As Ben and his mother moved into the war room, he could see that the room was not, in fact, empty. Braeda and uncle Luke were seated side by side, heads bowed close together as they traded words, their faces each etched with peaceful smiles.

 

The sight made Ben’s heart tighten slightly, but it was a more comforting sensation than he remembered it being in the past. It had been one of the biggest secrets Braeda had shared with Ben: the extent to which the red head adored and idolized uncle Luke. At the time, Ben hadn’t understood Braeda’s feelings, but they made him jealous all the same.

 

Now, seeing Braeda and his uncle sharing a quiet conversation, peaceful in the middle of a war, Ben wanted to chide his younger self for his selfish thoughts. Especially when Braeda noticed  Ben’s entrance, and turned that beautiful smile towards him.

 

“Hello Ben.” He nodded to him.

 

Ben nodded awkwardly in return. It would take some getting used to, interacting with Braeda on a daily basis. Especially since they were no longer in life or death situations. Especially since Braeda was no longer Hux.

 

“I don’t suppose this seat is taken?” He asked , gesturing to the remaining seat beside Braeda.

 

The red head smirked, “I do believe it’s taken by you.” He replied.

 

With a small smile, Ben sank into the seat on Braeda’s left, “It’s good to see you up and about…” Ben nodded to Braeda, “How are you feeling?”

 

“Better than I deserve, I imagine.” Braeda’s voice was…polite, kind. Not exactly the tone Ben had learned to expect from General Hux. It was strange to hear such kindness from the general’s voice.

 

But, then again, was it really the general’s voice? He was loath to admit it, but there had been moments, when he had the chance to sneak away to watch Braeda in the bacta tank, that Ben looked at the other man and saw General Hux. And it made his blood run cold.

 

“…again?”

 

Ben blinked, realizing that Braeda had indeed asked him a question, “I’m sorry, what was that?”

 

“I asked how was seeing your family again? How are things between you?”

 

“Better than I deserve, I imagine.” He parroted back.

 

The two sat in awkward silence for longer than Ben would have liked.

 

“I believe,” Braeda began, as the first of many officers began to make their way into the room. He dropped his voice so only Ben could hear, “that, once this is finished, we need to have that talk.”

 

Of course they did. As much as Ben dreaded and feared having that conversation with Braeda, he knew they both needed to have it, especially if they could ever hope to move forward.

 

“You’re right.” Ben nodded, taking a deep breath as his eyes scanned the room. There wasn’t a whole lot of attention on them, and there didn’t seem to be any sort of noticeably negative reaction to the sight of Braeda (either that or the Resistance was better at hiding their reactions—he doubted it).

 

But better to act when he didn’t have much of an audience. He carefully slipped his hand into his pocket, withdrawing the little finger hidden there.

 

“I assume you want this.” Ben murmured, pressing it into Braeda’s hand.

 

Braeda didn’t even have to look down at his hand to know what it was Ben had passed to him, his flesh fingers drifting deftly over the mechanical digit. “Did you read the file?”

 

“No.” Ben shook his head.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Ben didn’t get the chance to reply, as more and more officers began to fill the room. He quickly realized that this was not a meeting like the one he had previously been a guest to. This wasn’t just a meeting of top level officers. This was including a greater number of the Resistance (though Ben couldn’t tell if the entire Resistance was present—he hoped not).

 

And standing before them all, legs planted in a wide and commanding stance, was his mother. Ben couldn’t help but smile at the sight—some things truly never did change.

 

“Ladies, gentlemen,” His mother began, standing before the assembled mass, her stance wide and commanding, “I’m sure some of you may be wondering why we’re all meeting like this, so soon after our most successful operation to date. Let me start by saying this: you will be glad to hear what I am about to say. We have had an incredible victory over the First Order with the destruction of _Starkiller_ , and now…we have been given the chance to end their tyranny once and for all.”

 

While the higher ranking officers did not react to the information, the squadron leaders and lower level officers all blinked in surprise, and a murmur rippled through the room.

 

“We have been brought data about the First Order’s entire base of operations.” His mother continued, her voice effectively silencing and lingering murmurs, “We now know where they are getting their armada, their weapons, their supplies; we know their allies, their financial backers, their friendly territories.” She took a deep breath before adding, “We even know where they are getting their troops and their officers.

 

“We have the opportunity to destroy the very workings of the First Order. If we act fast enough, strike hard enough, we can not only stop the First Order from ever coming _close_ to rebuilding _Starkiller_ , we will be able to completely wiped them off the galactic map.”

 

Opening a file on her datapad, General Organa caused the entire war room to be bathed in the light of a projected star map. It was wide, expansive, details, but most importantly, Ben realized, was the fact that various points of the map were labeled with various colors, symbols, notes.

 

The web of the First Order, all drawn out on a map.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen.” His mother swept her hand through the air, bringing attention to the map as if there could possibly be any individual in the room who wasn’t drinking in the every detail of the map in question, “This is our mission. This…is the Hosnian Project.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! And that more or less begins act two of this particular story: "The Hosnian Project" (if you were curious, act one was called "Resistance Acceptance"--not catchy, but whatever).
> 
> I did not expect Mitaka's scene to grow to be that big! But, believe it or not, I've actually been waiting to write that flashback scene about Mitaka "seeing" the Force (that's not exactly what it is, but I'll explain hopefully in later chapters) waaaay back in Sleeper: Chapter 6. Oh yeah, I can hold onto things forever...and others I can't help but use right away (looking at you, Snoke-plottwist).
> 
> Alright, I'm struggling to stay awake, my fingers hurt from typing, and this writer needs her shut eye. Please let me know what you think, and what sort of adventures should unfold in the Hosnian Project (I'm excited, I want to blow shit up again!)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, I cannot believe how long it has been since I've updated! I'm so sorry guys, life has been crazy the past few weeks, with my birthday and with finals coming up.
> 
> Anywhoo, I apologize with your favorite character(s) didn't make it into this particular chapter, I've come to realize that it is near impossible to juggle all the wonderful characters and side plots at once, and carry a main plot at the same time.
> 
> I do hope this chapter was worth the wait!

The factory assembly line rocked violently in the shock wave of thermal detonation, various weaponry dropping from their shelves and conveyor belts in heavy clatters to the metal floor below.

 

“Well, at least we know the detonators work!” Poe huffed out a laugh as he ran through the quaking building, looking over to shoot a grin at Finn.

 

It was all Finn could do to keep his footing as another explosion rippled through the building, “Was it too much to ask Jess to not blow up the building until we were outside”

 

“Well that was the original plan.” Poe muttered as the two took a hairpin turn at full speed. “But you know how plans can be flexible.”

 

“Poe, this plan is a damn contortionist.”

 

In reality, the mission was supposed to be rather straightforward. Intelligence (aka Braeda) had revealed a series of factories hidden on Sullust that were secretly supplying the First Order with a wide range of weaponry. So mission objective: destroy the factories and, if possible, “acquire” said weaponry.

 

Simple.

 

Unfortunately, Finn was coming to realize that the Resistance didn’t really do simple very well. Somewhere along the line, “Blow up and steal” had gotten lost in translation and had left Poe and Finn running for their lives in the middle of a collapsing building.

 

“But just so you know, I’m blaming your Jedi master for this mess!” Poe raised his blaster, plugging away a series of shots at the angry factory guards. “Him and his vague as kriff instructions!”

 

Finn grunted, shooting down the angry guard blocking their way down the corridor, “Don’t say that!”

 

“You and I both know that Braeda said nothing about this place being guarded by mercenaries!”

 

“Well, to be fair, I think he assumed it was implied that a super secret weapons facility would be guarded by _someone._ ” Finn hurdled over the body of the fallen guard, “But I was talking about calling him my Jedi master.”

 

Poe gave Finn another grin that made his stomach flip, “Well, what else am I supposed to call him?” He chuckled as the two of them darted outside.

 

Finn didn’t answer, too focused on the large crate of blasters suspended on an anti-grav gurney that came into view.

 

“Well, there’s a bit of luck.” Poe smiled, “Looks like we’ll be able to bring back a gift back to base after all.”

 

An all too familiar orange and white sphere rolled around from behind the crate, beeping and whirring excitedly.

 

Poe huffed, “Hey, I do _too_ know what I’m doing!”

 

“I don’t even know what BeeBee said, but I agree with him.” Finn snorted, running at the hovering crate at full speed to push it towards the waiting ship, Poe right beside him.

 

It was amazing how fast one could load cargo when there were hostiles shooting with an intent to kill, and it wasn’t long before Finn found himself in the gunner’s seat while Poe was already strapped into the pilot’s seat and firing up the engines.

 

“ _You still kicking, Black Leader? Over._ _”_ Came the snappy voice of Blue Three.

 

Poe rolled his eyes, gunning the craft into takeoff, “Yeah, no thanks to a certain _someone_ for having an itchy trigger finger! You gunning for a promotion or something? Over.”

 

_“Had no choice, you had a troop of mercs going in after your ass. Explosion was the best distraction. Over.”_

Poe looked at Finn, and Finn could easily read Poe’s expression as one that doubted the sincerity of Pava’s explanation. But before the older pilot could offer a reply, another voice cut in.

 

_“I take it we’re all good, then. No one died, we got what we needed? Over.”_

“Yeah, Snap. We even managed to snag a crate of those shiny blasters.” Poe replied, “I’m sure Iolo will be all over these babies when we get back. Over.”

 

_“You gunna call it in to base then, Commander? Over.”_

Poe didn’t answer immediately, making quick work to get the larger craft out of Sullust’s airspace and into the openness of space. “Yeah, I’ll contact the General. Get ready to jump to hyperspace. Out.”

 

* * *

 

 

_“General Organa, this is Black Leader. Mission on Sullust was successful: targets neutralized and contraband collected.”_

From her spot standing behind the communications officers, Leia nodded slightly in relief, “Excellent, Blackleader. Return to base at once.”

 

“ _Don_ _’t have to tell me twice. Out.”_

Leia smiled softly, turning to the large star map illuminated against the screen of the room’s far wall, “We can mark off the Sullust factories.”

 

The technician nodded curtly, rapidly clicking several keys on his computer before the pulsing image of Sullust was marked with a red X. The map was decorated with several X’s of First Order operations destroyed through their efforts. Shipyards, weapons facilities such as the one on Sullust, credit laundering operations for the First Order’s finances. By themselves, they were insignificant. But together…

 

“It’s been quite the busy week, don’t you think, Leia?”

 

It was all Leia could do to keep the fond grin from spreading across her face as she turned to face her brother. “It’s been downright chaos…but I can certainly get used to it.”

 

Luke had thankfully cleaned up in his first week back to civilization, hacking through the mess of hair to form some semblance of order. Much to Leia’s annoyance, he kept the beard, but he was merciful enough to trim it  enough so that he no longer appeared a hermit. He looked like the Jedi Master he should be.

 

“You’ve accomplished much in so short a time.” Luke smiled softly.

 

“ _We_ _’ve_ accomplished much.”

 

“It won’t be enough.”

 

The twins turned their attention from their fond moment between them to where Braeda stood in front of the starmap. The red head remained motionless for a moment before he turned back to face the two, paying no mind to his empty sleeve, “These attacks, they won’t be enough to stop the First Order.”

 

Leia raised an eyebrow curiously, “What do you mean by that? You’re the one who brought us this information.”

 

Braeda sighed, “Yes, I did. But most of this data was collected before—” he ran his hand through his hair, “before Hosnian.”

 

The pain on the former spy was plain to see, Leia didn’t have to rely on the Force to sense his guilt and anguish over the destruction of the Hosnian system. “Braeda.” She took a step toward him, “You gave us plenty of warning about the attack. It was not your fault that the Republic didn’t take our warnings seriously—”

 

“But you see, that’s the point.” Braeda interrupted, his blue eyes focused intently on her, “If we are to have any chance to eradicate the First Order from the galaxy, we need the Republic, or at the very least, the Republican allies.The Resistance _cannot_ win against the First Order if it came down to a show of force. We have the element of surprise now, and their defenses are down because of the aftermath of _Starkiller._ But that won’t last forever…”

_“_ Then we take out the First Order before they have a chance to recover.” Leia insisted, clenching her fists.

_“_ You and I both know the Resistance doesn’t have that type of man power. How many bases do we have besides this one? A handful, maybe. And now we don’t have the central power of the Republic to fuel us.” Braeda reached his hand to scrub through the stubble that had begun to grow on his jawline, “And the First Order knows that. That’s why Snoke ordered Hosnian destroyed first.”

A shuddering sigh escaped Braeda and, for a moment, the young knight closed his eyes. Leia could practically see the thoughts whirling in his mind, but knew better than to speak and interrupt his thought process.

“We need to reach out to the planets we know  were Republic sympathizers.” He finally replied, opening his eyes, “We need their support. And we need them to take us, take our cause seriously.”

 

Luke nodded, “We will need all the support we could hope to gather.”

 

A snort escaped Leia before she could stop it, “You would think that what’s left of the Republic would take the threat of the First Order seriously after they obliterated an entire system…”

 

“Yes,” Braeda agreed, “And…I am loath to say it, but perhaps we may be able to use Hosnian’s destruction to our advantage.” He turned back to the map, “The First Order intended Hosnian’s destruction to be a warning to the rest of the Republic: surrender, or face the same fate. _Starkiller_ is out of the picture, thankfully, but we need to impress the exact opposite message: fight with us, or face the same fate.”

 

Luke nodded slowly, “You are right, of course, but how do you suggest we do that?”

 

“We’ll need to speak their language: politics.” Braeda replied simply, “I had to do it as Hux plenty of times: go to various planets to lobby for the cause, wine and dine, all sorts of nauseating trivialities to prove that the First Order was more than just a psychotic military junta.”

_“_ But the First Order _is_ a—”

_“_ Yes, but plenty of times, we had to politic our way into the hearts and treasuries of planets by convincing them we were a functional body with a cause to support their ends.” He shook his head in disgust, looking back at them both, “The Resistance needs to convince these planets that we are more than just mismatched freedom fighters trying to fight a war all on our own.”

Luke had that damn twinkle in his eye again, and it always served to drive Leia mad, “You would think that the threat of the First Order would be enough to convince people to fight against them.”

 

“You’d be surprised, General.” The words were little more than a murmur, as Braeda returned to them slowly, “If there is anything that I have learned about the First Order, other than its bitter determination to survive, is that it has an uncanny ability to twist the truth to fit its needs.” He shook his head, “Without establishing ourselves to the Republic planets, the First Order will no doubt try to shape our actions as those of an anarchist terrorism cell.”

 

Leia blinked, staring at the younger man intently, “Surely no one would—”

 

“Ask Mitaka what he thought the Resistance was about. Or Rodinon, or Thanisson, or any of them.” Braeda wore a humorless smile, “They were all taught to believe the Resistance was the pit of all evil, and that the First Order wanted to bring peace to the chaotic galaxy.” He sighed, “General…if we don’t take control of our cause…the First Order will.”

 

Deep down, Leia knew he was right. They were at war, and while the Hosnian project could no doubt cripple the First Order quite a bit…they would need as many allies as they could gather if they were to end this war.

 

But damn…politics?

 

* * *

 

 

Finn was always exhausted after an assignment, often times it was all he could do upon getting back to base was to wander to the bunk he shared with Poe, use the ‘fresher, and pass out on the lumpy surface that Poe claimed was a bed.

 

But if he was honest with himself, he loved the exhaustion he felt after a job well done. The nights after an assignment were always the best he ever slept. He could even sleep through Poe’s snoring.

 

This time, though, Finn wasn’t feeling up to sleeping directly. Sure, he was stretched out on the bed, listening to the sound of Poe in the ‘fresher. Thinking about Poe brought his mind back to the words he had said during their mission.

 

His Jedi master.

 

Finn couldn’t reconcile himself with which word of that phrase unnerved him the most.

 

He hadn’t wanted to believe Skywalker, or Braeda, when the Jedi had informed him that he had the Force. He still didn’t believe that he had the makings of a Jedi. He didn’t know if he even _wanted_ to have the makings of a Jedi. Seeing how Rey had acted the past week was bad enough, how quiet she had gotten, how she would often lose herself in memories that had been long since locked away. Would that happen to him as well?

 

And the thought of Braeda…of Hux…being his master…he couldn’t reconcile himself to that. He had already served Hux once…he didn’t want to go back to that servitude…

 

Without thinking, Finn’s hand reached into the pocket of his jacket, withdrawing the small datachip that had made its home there the past week.

 

It was a small thing, only big enough for a single file.

 

In theory, Finn knew what that file was, based on what Braeda told him when he gave it to him.

 

_“I’m no Jedi.” Finn shook his head, “There has to be some mistake.”_

_“There is no mistake, Finn.” Braeda insisted, that peaceful smile Finn could never associate with Hux, “I’ve watched you for some time, and I could sense the Force inside you then, and it’s still there now.”_

_“But I don’t have the power that Rey has, or Kylo Ren, or Skywalker—”_

_“Of course you don’t. You’ve never been trained.” The red head shook his head. “If you are willing, I will help you find your connection to the Force, and teach you how to master it.”_

_“But what if I don’t want to be a Jedi?”_

_To Finn_ _’s surprise, the Jedi merely continued to smile, “That’s your choice, Finn. I would ask that perhaps you think on it a few days.” He nodded, reaching into his pocket, “In the meantime, I have something of yours…”_

_Honestly, Finn had no idea what the Jedi could have that would belong to Finn; he didn_ _’t own anything other than the clothes on his back (and some of that had been a gift)._

_Seeing a finger in Braeda_ _’s hand only served to confuse him further, “Um…that’s…not mine?” he tried, unsure what to say._

_Braeda chuckled lightly,_ _“The finger was mine.” He replied, before the digit rose gracefully through the Force. Finn watched in fascination as the skin peeled away from the mechanisms underneath, and the gears began to break away from each other. “But it’s what’s inside that’s yours.”_

_It was then that Finn could see it: a single datachip._

_“Go on, take it.” Braeda nodded._

_Finn carefully reached up, plucking the chip from the floating mess of gears. It certainly didn_ _’t feel any different; if he hadn’t known better, he wouldn’t have suspected it had been floating only moments before._

_He hadn_ _’t even realized he had been staring at it until he caught Braeda’s knowing expression, “So, um, what is this?”_

_“Your file.”_

_He frowned at that,_ _“I don’t need my file from the First Order. I know what is said, and that’s not who I am anymore.” On that, he was certain. He didn’t know if “Finn” was meant to be a Jedi or not, but he refused to go back to “FN-2187” and be a mindless soldier._

_Braeda shook his head,_ _“Not that file. The other file, the background file.”_

_Finn_ _’s heart stopped, “Background? You mean—”_

_“Acquisition history.” The Jedi nodded slowly, “Where you came from. I thought…after all I put you though, it was the least I could give you.”_

_It was like all the moisture had dried up in Finn_ _’s mouth, “So…have you read this?” He asked weakly._

_“No.” It was a simple enough answer, no room for interpretation, “But that also means I can’t guarantee that what is on that file is what you are looking for.” A gentle expression passed over Braeda’s face, “I won’t make you look at it with me here…you don’t even have to look at it now. But it’s yours to read. And…think about what I said.”_

Finn hadn’t read the file yet. He wasn’t sure he had the strength. His past was on that chip, his planet, his people, his _family_ …he could know…

 

Did he want to? He had already told himself that he would not be FN-2187, but what about the person before then? What if there was a family looking for him? Could he go to them? Would they be proud of who he became?

 

Ultimately, there was only one way Finn could know for sure.

 

Snatching Poe’s datapad from the pilot’s workbench, Finn carefully inserted the datachip. It took only a moment for the file to register on the datapad, the icon for the file illuminating the screen. After a moment’s hesitation, Finn pressed the icon, opening the file.

 

It was less than a minute later that Finn had dropped the datapad, racing from the room to find the Jedi.

 

* * *

 

 

In the end, it wasn’t too difficult to find Braeda. If he wasn’t glued to Skywalker, General Organa, or Ben’s side, then he was usually outside, sitting in the grass, meditating or something.

 

The red head’s eyes were open even before Finn managed to cross the grassy patch of land, though the Jedi wore a troubled look on his face as he observed Finn.

 

“I take it what you found wasn’t what you were hoping…” Braeda started, trailing off as Finn stood before him.

 

There was a long while when Finn had no idea what to say, how to properly express the anger and sorrow that had festered in him the past few minutes. He couldn’t string together words to form coherent thoughts, let alone sentences for communication. In the end, only a single word left his lips, spat like poison, “ _Donated._ _”_

 

Either the word was enough for Braeda to understand, or he was simply reading Finn’s mind without him knowing it, because a pained look of understanding crossed the Jedi’s face. The expression did nothing to ease Finn’s own pain though, “You don’t seem surprised by this.”

 

Braeda shook his head, “I am shocked to hear that you were a donated child…but I knew that the practice was common enough in the First Order.” He slowly got to his feet.

 

Finn shook his head, “So…what? My parents just _handed_ me over to the First Order to be turned into a killing machine?”

 

“I wouldn’t underestimate the power of good propaganda.” Braeda whispered. The Jedi slowly began to walk away from the base, and Finn couldn’t help but find himself following him. “You’ve seen it in the barracks, the ‘troopers who believe they fight for a noble cause, and who are honored to die for that cause. You can imagine how some parents might want to support that cause with what they had to give—”

 

“Me! Children, babies!” Finn ran a hand through his hair, “How twisted in the head do you have to be to do that?”

 

There was a long moment when Braeda said nothing, simply watching Finn. Then, when he spoke, his words made Finn’s blood run cold.

 

“Did you know that, for the Stormtrooper program, Commandant Hux was partially inspired by the Jedi Order?”

 

Finn’s face was no doubt a grotesque visage of disgust and horror, but Braeda paid it no mind,  “In the Old Jedi Order, Force-sensitives were often recruited at only a few years old, even rejecting those who were “too old” at ten years old or so. These children, younglings, were brought to the temple, and they had no connections with their previous families or lives.”

 

If Finn had doubts about Jedi before, they were doubly so now, “You’re kidding me…” he shook his head, “Did Skywalker do that to Rey? To you?”

 

A light chuckle escaped Braeda, which seemed out of place, considering the conversation, “No, no. Like I said, this was during the Old Jedi Order. Master Skywalker would never dream of seperating a child from their family. Of those in Master Skywalker—Luke’s temple, Ben was the only one with parents.” He smiled softly, “So, in a way, I suppose you could say that we are somewhat alike in that respect.”

 

“We are nothing alike.” Finn clenched his fists, stopping in his tracks to glare at the back of the Jedi’s head. “I wasn't just.. _donated_ as a child, I was turned into a number, do you have any idea what that’s like? To be labeled like a piece of cargo, to not even be acknowledged as a human being?” Braeda stopped in his tracks some steps in front of Finn, but the other did not deign to turn around. Which suited Finn just fine, “No, you have no idea what it’s like to even be denied something so basic as a name—”

 

“Oh don’t I?” Braeda whirled to face Finn, closing the distance between them faster than even Finn had expected. There was an intense glint in the man’s eye as he spoke, and it was enough to send chills down Finn’s spine. How had he forgotten that this had once been General Hux? “You grow up as nothing, you know you’re nothing, and everyone else knows it, because you’re not even worth the breath of aid it would take to address you. And you accept it as normal, because what else could you possibly know? And, in the darkest corners of your being, you accept their dismissal of you because...how could they all be wrong?

 

“But then someone bursts into your life with all the grace of a solar flare, and without even knowing you, they give you a name. The name itself means nothing, it is a collection of arbitrary phonemes that, when vocalized in a specific order and with a specific set of intonations and rhythm, come to form a sound meant to identify the presence of your being. He could have named you “Jar Jar” for all that matters. But the fact that someone took the time out of his life, in the midst of everything else in the galaxy they could have devoted his time to, to spare a few moments and say “You deserve to be addressed like a person. Take this name.” And in that moment, you can’t help but feel indebted to him, not because he gave you a name, but because he looked at you like a person…” The intensity of Braeda’s gaze melted away, as did the tension in his shoulders as the older man sighed gently, “Well, how was that? Was I close to the idea?”

 

Silence reigned between them for quite some time. Finn didn’t even trust himself to even breathe in front of the one armed man. How was he supposed to respond to that? How could he speak without acknowledging the feelings he had felt in those rushed moments with Poe in the stolen TIE? The thrill of escape, and the rush of emotions of being _someone_ to someone.

 

“Who named you?” He found himself croaking instead, surprised at just how weak he sounded in the wake of his previous rant to the Jedi.

 

Braeda snorted, a surprisingly gentle sound, “Do you really need to ask?”

 

No, Finn realized. He didn’t. He already knew the answer. “So when you said that Ben was the only one at the temple with family, you were including yourself.”

 

“I was.” Braeda nodded, before continuing on his walk. Finn found himself following a step behind the Jedi until the older man slowed and they walked side by side. “I was born on Naboo.”

 

Finn nodded slowly, understanding that his input was not necessary.

 

“If you were to ask me about my family, I couldn't tell you anything, even if my life had depended on it.” Braeda shook his head slowly, “My earliest memories consisted of digging through trash heaps and compost piles for food, and scavenging what I could for warmth and shelter. The only home I had was a hollowed out tree trunk on the outskirts of the forest. I never even had enough presence of mind to name myself.”

 

“When survival is at stake, it almost seems frivolous…” Finn muttered. Sure, he had never been fighting for survival in the Stormtrooper corps, but he had learned quick that anything other than basic needs were not encouraged.

 

Braeda snorted, “Indeed. And that was all I knew.” A heavy sigh escaped the red head before he continued, “Then, one day, a man appears at one of the trash heaps, and he just watches me. He must have been there an hour or so, just watching. But then he holds out a pear to me, a fresh one. “You must be hungry” he says.”

 

“Did you take it?” Finn raised an eyebrow, though he could tell where the story was going.

 

“Of course not.” A wry smirk settled on Braeda’s face, “I had seen what had happened to other street rats who accepted food from strangers. They either disappeared, or they were found dead hours later of poisoning.” At Finn’s horrified expression, he continued, “You’d be surprised what some people would do to be rid of vermin. And so I ran, I ran all the way back to my little home in the tree.

 

“But he kept showing up. No matter where I went to forage and scavenge, he would somehow find me, always holding a pear out to me. Sometimes he’d also be eating a pear and offer me a bite, as if to say “look, not poisoned, I’m eating it too!” but I knew that could be a trick as well. So I never accepted the food...no matter how hungry I got.

 

“Soon, the winter season began. People were throwing out less, and most of the fruit bearing plants in the forest had died. No matter how hard I tried.” Braeda closed his eyes for a long moment, and Finn could see the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed thickly, “It was raining quite hard when he found me for that last time. The details are a bit hazy for me, but I do remember looking at that pear and thinking “I’m going to die either way, at least this way I’ll have eaten fresh fruit.””

 

Finn smiled softly, “And so you finally took it.”

 

“Actually, I think I passed out before I could.” Braeda chuckled softly to himself, as if thinking of an old joke, “I woke up some time later in Master Skywalker’s dwelling, just in time for him to nearly force feed me a bowl of soup.” He smiled warmly, “He nursed me back to health, fed me and took care of me in ways no one had ever done before. Days went by, and neither of us said a word to each other.”

 

“Until he asked you your name.” Finn murmured, putting his hands in his pockets.

 

“Yes. Until then.” The Jedi nodded slowly, “I couldn’t answer him. I think he might have searched my mind, because he understood that I had no name.”

 

“And so he named you Braeda.”

 

“Well first he tried to name me Breha.” At Finn’s confused expression, Braeda continued, “Apparently he thought I was a girl. In hindsight it wasn’t too hard to make that mistake— I’d always been on the slighter side, and my hair had been long at the time— but I still gave him a good kneeing for the slight.”

 

Finn couldn’t help but snort at the image, “You must have been a nightmare child…”

 

“I was a scavenger, and you’ve seen how reluctant we can be when it comes to accepting help.” Braeda gave him a knowing look, and Finn couldn’t help but smile at the memory of his first interaction with Rey. “But it all worked out int eh end. Master Skywalker eventually brought me with him when he left Naboo, and I trained with him.”

 

“And here you are…” Finn murmured, piecing together what he had heard of the nobody turned padawan turned spy turned general turned Jedi.

 

Braeda nodded, “And here I am…”

 

The two walked in silence for several minutes, though Finn couldn’t bring himself to try and break it with awkward conversation. He was used to long stretches of silence, of speaking on when necessary; it had been one of Phasma’s first lessons. But this was different, it was a chosen silence, contemplative and peaceful.

 

Finn still had so much he wanted to learn about himself. Not who he was, he knew now only pain lay behind him. But there were so many options before him…

 

“If I train with you…” He asked finally, still looking ahead and not at the red head, “Do I have to become a Jedi?”

 

Another moment of silence, but this one much briefer, “No.” Braeda replied evenly, “I suppose not. I would certainly like it if you became a Jedi, because I believe you would make an excellent Jedi, but your path is your path to follow.”

 

Finn nodded slowly, mulling the words in his mind.

 

“Alright then.” He replied, stopping in his tracks. The Jedi stopped slowly and turned to face him as Finn continued, “I’ll be your student.”

 

“Technically, the correct term is padawan.” Braeda replied, but he smiled nonetheless, “And I am certainly glad to hear that, Finn. Because we already have a mission.”

 

That caught Finn off guard, “Wait, were you expecting me to say yes?”

 

“Expecting? No.” Braeda shook his head lightly, “Hoping? Certainly. And…I had a feeling the Force was leading you to this path…much like it led you to me all those years ago.” At Finn’s confused expression, the Jedi raised a hand, “No, I think that’s a story for another time, really. As it stands, we need to begin preparations for our mission.”

 

“What’s our mission?” Finn couldn’t help but be curious. Sure, he had been on assignments with Poe and the other pilots, but none of the Jedi had ever been on one of those assignments.

 

Braeda smirked, “We’re going to Corellia to convince the governor that he should join our cause against the First Order.”

 

Finn blinked, “Why Corellia?”

 

“I’ve heard that Master Skywalker has an old friend who may be able to help us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you guys go! Finally some action off base, and more to come. And Finn and Braeda got a chance to deal with issues between them (and yes, I did not forget the other important conversation that Braeda needed to have, it's lurking around here somewhere...)
> 
> As always you guys really keep me going when I'm tempted to give up/go on hiatus/abandon a fic. And like always, I want to hear your thoughts, your ideas, the things that made your heart/head hurt or just things that make you want to hunt me down so I can fix it (hopefully not a whole lot of that...).
> 
> Until next time guys!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [brushes away cobwebs and dust] I can't believe I'm here again! I know its been so long guys (a year and a half almost to the day...), but here it is: the latest installment of Wake Up, Dreamers.
> 
> I'm actually really emotional to actually get back to this fic because so much as happened in the past 18 months: I lost my job, I got a new job, I moved over 200 miles away from my family, my little sister got married, and I've made the decision to go back to school to finish my master's degree. 
> 
> I want to give a big thank you to those of you who have been following this series since I first started Sleeper, who have left comments about how you re-read the stories and leave comments on how much you love the story, and never gave up hope that I'd come back to it (even when I had long since given up hope myself). Thank you to those of you who read Dreamers even when you saw it was unfinished and hadn't been updated in months (or years). Thank you to those who are on tumblr and have left me messages of love and support, even when I emotionally had nothing left to give. Honestly, I wouldn't be here without you guys.
> 
> But enough mush (as I'm sure only about half of you guys read these notes), lets get back into Dreamers! Forgive me if I seem a bit rusty and out of practice with these characters and story, but I hope I don't disappoint too much with this chapter!

_Night had fallen over the base, and with it, the gentle serenity of silence. The normally chaotic life of the Resistance had settled into the much needed rest of sleep._

 

_For the most part._

 

_A pained hiss cut through the quiet of one cramped room, “Ah!”_

 

_“Shh…” A deeper voice quickly smothered the lighter hisses, “Am I hurting you, Braeda?”_

 

_“I’m fine, Ben.” The redhead’s breathing was labored, sweat gathering at his brow, “Just do it.”_

 

_“If it’s too big, I can—”_

 

_“Oh shut up, it’s not too big. I can take it, Ben.” Braeda hissed through gritted teeth, squeezing his eyes shut, “Just give it a good shove, it’ll fit.”_

 

_“Okay…deep breath…”_

 

_A strangled cry escaped Braeda as agonizing pain rippled through his body. The muscles of his chest and shoulders began to spasm as they were overloaded with electrical discharge, his frayed nerves connecting to the mechanical nerves as the newly constructed arm connected with his body._

 

_“Breathe, Braeda, breathe…”_

 

_Ben’s strong arms wrapped around his midsection, keeping him upright as the spasms began to subside._

 

_Braeda groaned lowly, letting his head dangle, “Kriff…I hate that…”_

 

_“Yeah, but you couldn’t go around as the one armed Jedi forever.” Ben ran his hand through his hair gently, “Can you try moving it for me? I need to make sure I know if I need to make any adjustments.”_

 

_The red head nodded, sitting upright before looking at the new piece of hardware. There was a low hum of gears as the mech digits and wrist began to flex and bend._

 

_“There’s a second or so delay on the last two digits.” Braeda murmured softly._

 

_Ben nodded, grabbing the necessary tools to make the adjustments. And Braeda, to his credit, only winced slightly as a jolt shot through the arm and to his brain._

 

_“Better?”_

 

_A few fingers began to wiggle._

 

_“Better.” Braeda nodded, satisfied, “Thank you, Ben.”_

 

_Ben shook his head, “It was the least I could do…”_

 

_The “since I'm the reason your real arm is gone" that would have followed remained unspoken, but the meaning was understood between the two._

 

_“Still, it's good to have two arms again.” Braeda smiled, waving the mech hand._

 

_The mechanical arm was basic in its design, with only the skeletal resemblance to a flesh and blood limb, but it was the best Ben could salvage from parts around the base. And it worked, which was leaps and bounds better than what Braeda had before._

 

_Still, Ben couldn't help but let his hands wander from the tiny gears of Braeda’s fingers up the pistons that served to replace the arm's muscles, his mind already thinking of improvements he could make. He'd need to construct a better shoulder first, or at least better shoulder blades to create a more balanced look between Braeda’s two halves._

 

_Ben paused as his fingers passed over the durasteel mounting plate under Braeda’s clavicle, one of the few pieces that hadn't been removed from the original mech work. The metal was almost completely smooth, save for a series of scratches that gouged deep into the center of the plate._

 

_“What happened here?” He whispered, touching the marks. “Did something scratch you?”_

 

_“No, I engraved them.” Braeda answered, not meeting Ben's gaze._

 

_He could see it now: the scratches were perfectly straight, all lined up in a single neat row. Some were long, others were short. But they were clearly deliberate._

 

_He frowned slightly in confusion, “Why?”_

 

_“Count them, Ben.”_

 

_He did, tracing his fingers over each line as he did so. Seven...eight... “Nine…” He murmured._

 

_Braeda hummed in agreement, “For the nine I lost.”_

 

_Ben’s brow furrowed slightly, “The nine you—” the rest of the question  caught in his throat as realization dawned on him. Nine little lines for nine little bodies…_

 

_“Master Skywalker lined up their bodies in the temple after…” Braeda whispered._

 

_A knot formed in Ben’s throat as he ran his thumb over the three shortest lines— the younglings he had snuffed out in his malice. But there were only three lines, not four…a merciful act of the Force that Rey had survived. But that didn’t change the monstrosity of his actions._

 

_“Ask me.” Ben’s voice broke over those two words, and he could no longer look at Braeda. He did not deserve to._

 

_Braeda’s voice was soft, but Ben could feel his trepidation through the Force, “Ben, I don’t think this is the best time—”_

 

_“No, Braeda, we need to talk about it now, before something else can distract us.” He shook his head, “Ask me.”_

 

_“Alright…” A shaky breath escaped Braeda’s lips, and Ben could feel the faintest wisps of the air against his cheek, “Why did you turn to the dark side?”_

 

Ben woke with a start, his eyes flying open to survey the dark of the room. All was still, save for his own heavy breathing, and the gentle huffs that escaped Braeda as he slept beside Ben.

 

Well, perhaps not exactly beside Ben, more like under him, as Ben had taken to sprawling over top the smaller man. But Ben couldn’t find it in himself to feel sorry for their sleeping arrangement, because he had Braeda in his arms, safe and sound. And if that meant sleeping with a mech arm poking into his side, so be it.

 

A soft sigh signaled that Braeda was waking up, as the red head slowly blinked his eyes open to look at him. “You know you’re not as small as you used to be.” He murmured softly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his flesh hand. “You could crush me…”

 

“You love it.” Ben replied, kissing his cheek gently.

 

“No comment.” Braeda shook his head, slowly sitting up, “We need to get up, we’re heading out today.”

 

Nodding, Ben pulled himself upright. “Right, Corellia…” He did his best to resist a groan, “Meeting with the governor…”

 

“Yes, Ben, politics.” Braeda gave him a wry smile as he got dressed for the day, “You’re a big boy, you’ll live.”

 

“It’s not me I’m worried about…” Ben shook his head.

 

* * *

 

 

Sleep still clung to the corners of Finn’s eyes as he lay on the thin mat that was meant to serve as a bed. He should have been up and ready by this time, ready to report for duty on whatever mission would be presented to him. But sleep had not been the most forthcoming to Finn that night, too many things on his mind for him to possibly sleep soundly. And with the mission to Corellia…

 

“You awake, buddy?”

 

With a heavy sigh, Finn replied in the affirmative.

 

“Could have fooled me.” A muted ‘oomf’ was all the warning Finn received before Poe decided he would take a seat in his already cramped bunk, “You still seem like you’d rather be in dreamland.”

 

“I don’t exactly dream very often...” With a stifled yawn, Finn forced himself to sit up. A quick glance at Poe told him that the commander had already been to the refresher and was dressed in his uniform before Finn had been able to open his eyes.

 

Poe shook his head, “Nonsense, everyone dreams. You just might not remember it.” He smiled softly, “You ready for today?”

 

Honestly, no he wasn’t. But then again, since when had being ready ever stopped Finn from doing anything?

 

“So have you ever been to Corellia?” Finn found himself asking.

 

Poe shrugged, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the wall of the bunk, “A couple times, back when I still flew for the Republic. But I never stayed for long periods of time.”

 

Finn nodded, unable to look away from Poe, “What was it like?”

 

“Well the capital city is pretty impressive.” Poe chuckled, accompanied by a practiced nonchalant shrug, “Nothing like Coruscant, but then again, nothing is like Coruscant.”

 

Not that Finn would know the difference, “I don’t think I've ever been to any big cities planetside before, usually we only go to rural areas--”

 

“Usually to blow something up.”

 

“Still.”

 

“I know.” Poe grinned, “But you’ll love it there. If we weren’t going for ultra important, save-the-Galaxy Jedi politicking, I’d say we should explore the sights together.”

 

Finn smiled softly. He would have liked that…

 

“Speaking of Jedi,” Poe continued,  pulling Finn from his thoughts before he could daydream a bit too much. “How has the Jedi training with Master Hux been going?”

 

Finn rolled his eyes, “Don’t call him that.” Though he couldn’t help but smile at Poe’s antics, “As for how it’s been going...it's certainly not been what I expected.”

 

Poe raised an eyebrow, “How so?”

 

“Well…” Finn shook his head, trying to find the right words, “I see Rey running around outside with Master Skywalker, doing all sorts of exercises and routines, and I guess that’s what I was expecting.” He shrugged, “But Braeda mainly has me meditating.”

 

The pilot wrinkled his nose, “That sounds awful.”

 

“Tell me about it.” Finn sighed heavily. He had grown up in world of action, he was used to being given a directive and following the best course of action. He understood Rey’s training: exercises, routines, drills. Those made sense.

 

Meditating, sitting still and doing nothing, thinking about nothing…it was torture.

 

“I’m sure there’s a reason for it.” Poe shrugged, “I mean, I can’t say that I understand any of this Jedi business, but—”

 

“I’m still wondering if Braeda and Master Skywalker didn’t make a mistake in thinking that I could be a Jedi.” Finn admitted, instinctively leaning into Poe.

 

Poe shook his head, “I wouldn’t say that.” He paused for a moment, before continuing. “I mean, from all I know about Jedi and their teachings… they don’t exactly take on students lightly.”

 

“I didn’t realize you knew so much about Jedi.” Finn raised an eyebrow, “Who taught you about the Jedi?”

 

“…My mother used to tell me stories.” Poe murmured softly, a nostalgic look on his face, “Before I actually met General Organa, all I knew about her and Luke Skywalker came from her.”

 

Finn went quiet at the mention of Poe’s family, his mind already wandering to the single word that had branded itself in his memory: donated.

 

“Hey.”

 

Poe’s voice, deeper and sterner than usual, brought Finn from his thoughts, and caused him to focus once more on the handsome pilot’s face. And while Poe’s eyes held the same warmth that Finn was used to, his jaw was set in a manner Finn had come to associate with his “serious” face.

 

“That look on your face, Finn… you’re thinking about that file again, aren’t you?” It wasn’t exactly a question Poe expected Finn to answer, “You cannot let that file consume you. You’re more than some words on a file, just like you’re more than a designation number.”

 

Finn bowed his head forward until it rested on Poe’s shoulder, “I guess I was just hoping for a bit more, you know? Just a clue that I was somebody—”

 

“You are somebody Finn.” Poe murmured softly in his ear, “You’re somebody to the Resistance, to General Organa, to Rey, to Beebee… kriff, even to Skywalker and the broody duo.”

 

Laughter escaped Finn before he could stop himself, “Seriously, Poe, ‘the broody duo?’”

 

“You cannot tell me it isn’t true.” Poe smiled softly, wrapping his arm around Finn’s shoulders, “And as for that file, and the whole “donated” business: their loss.”

 

Finn sighed heavily. “I wish it were that easy to just… brush off.”

 

“I can only imagine.” Poe muttered, “And I know I just can’t tell you to just forget about it, because like you said, it’s not that easy. But really…is dwelling on it going to make it better?” He gave Finn’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, “Maybe your parents were wonderful people and you would have had a great life with them…or maybe you would have grown up to be one of those First Order officers, fully believing in their cause. But in the end, it doesn’t matter. That isn’t what happened. You’re with us now, and I for one am not about to let you go without a fight.”

 

Slowly, Finn picked his head up off of Poe’s shoulder to look the pilot in the eye, “You mean that?”

 

Poe smiled, his voice low and gentle, “I know I won’t let you go without a fight.”

 

It was only then that Finn became aware of just how close he and Poe were, how their noses were practically brushing each other, how Finn could count each and every one of Poe’s dark eyelashes, how Finn could almost feel Poe’s warm breath against his lips, how if he just leaned forward ever so slightly—

 

The pneumatic hiss of the door to their quarters opening caused Finn and Poe to part as if burned. Upon turning their attention to the door, the two could see Rey, already averting her gaze awkwardly.

 

“General Organa said the ship was about to arrive.” Rey murmured, her fingers tapping against the side of the doorway, “So you might want to get ready to head out… so… right.”

 

And just like that, she was gone, with BB-8 already rolling after her in a series of beeps and whirls.

 

Poe cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair, “She’s been—”

 

“Yeah.” Finn sighed, picking himself up off the bed, “She’s been a bit off recently… and I’m pretty sure Braeda has something to do with that. Something he said.”

 

“I’m beginning to think he just naturally has that effect on people.” Poe clapped Finn on the shoulder, “Come on, let’s go save the galaxy… again.”

 

Finn wanted to say something, to question if there had been something going on prior to Rey’s interruption. But the words cowered on the tip of his tongue, refusing to take the plunge into verbalization. They had things to do, it could wait.

 

He’d ask later.

 

Promise.

 

* * *

 

 

When Braeda had been ten years old, he had discovered that a feral cat had been lurking around the temple. Many of the padawans had seen it, some had even attempted to catch it, but it had eluded the efforts of all who tried.

 

Braeda had decided he would be the one to tame the illusive beast. And so, every night, he’d take a portion of his dinner out into the courtyard and wait for the cat to appear. At first, he’d place the plate twenty feet from him and sit under the pear tree, simply watching as the cat would hesitantly approach the food, wary of his presence, grab what food it could fit in its mouth and run. But soon, it would stay, eating the food at the plate instead of running.

 

The next step was to move the plate to ten feet. Then five. Then two. All the while, Braeda sat, unmoving, while the cat ate. It was a great exercise in meditation.

 

Ben hadn’t been able to understand the logic of Braeda’s plan or patience, being only eight at the time, and had tried to run after the poor cat as it ate. Braeda had to nurse the younger boy’s scratched up hands that night.

 

It was only weeks later, when Ben had come to Braeda during his evening meditations under the pear tree, with the ill-tempered cat curled up in his lap, that he finally asked how Braeda had managed to tame the cat.

 

_“She’s a scavenger, Ben.” He had replied, “She’s used to being on her own, being hurt. Chasing her down only would have ended in scratches—” Ben huffed as indignantly as an eight year old could, “I had to let her come to me on her own terms.”_

 

And though Braeda was loath to compare Rey to the mangy feral cat he had been so fond of all those years ago, the tactic was very much the same. As much as he wanted to rush to Rey’s side, to comfort her after he released the block on her memories, to bond with her as the only surviving padawans from the massacre, he couldn’t. It might have been almost thirty years ago, but he could still remember his own time as a lonely scavenger, so used to finding shelter in one’s own company and solitude. To chase Rey would only result in pain for both of them.

 

And so he waited.

 

“How can you forgive him?”

Braeda slowly opened his eyes. He had been waiting for Master… Luke and the others to join him in the hangar bay before departing for Corellia, and had thought he could squeeze in a few moments’ meditation. Rey was looking up at him, her fist clenched and her eyes watering.

 

“After everything he did, how can you forgive him?” She repeated, “I have nightmares about that night now, I can’t stop seeing it… and knowing that he’s the one responsible, I—”

 

She didn’t have to say who he was, they both knew exactly who they were discussing. Braeda supposed this conversation was a long time coming, he just hadn’t thought that Rey would choose that moment to start it.

 

Sighing, Braeda touched Rey’s balled fist, “Rey, I’ve had nearly fifteen years more time to deal with my grief, my anger, my betrayal, my hopelessness—” he stopped, feeling not only Rey’s tormented being, but the ghost of his own heart from all those years ago. “You’re trying to live with these memories, and the feelings that go with them, as if the massacre occurred a few days ago.”

 

Rey couldn’t meet his eyes, instead looking at Braeda’s newly replaced arm. She swallowed thickly, “I can remember… I can remember hugging you and my fingers touching the charred end of your arm… I can even remember thinking “what’s on Brae’s arm?” but only now realizing that I was feeling that your arm wasn’t there.”

 

“Like I said… you have the memories now… and you have to live with them as if they were fresh.” Braeda paused, rubbing his flesh hand over his face. This was not an easy conversation to have, even if he had been preparing for it.

 

“But that doesn’t explain how you can forgive him.” Rey whispered, a war raging in her voice.

 

Braeda couldn’t help it. He smiled. It wasn’t one of mirth or pleasure, but rather nostalgia, if one had to put a name to it. Or perhaps reminiscence.

 

“I forgave him because… I couldn’t bear to poison myself any longer.”

 

“Poison?” Braeda couldn’t actually hear the word so much as read the way Rey’s lips formed the word, held it in curiosity and awe.

 

But she didn’t get the chance to question further, as the hangar bay began to fill with both people and the electric charge of anticipation. There was a single dot on the horizon, and it seemed the whole of the Resistance wished to greet it.

 

“That’s our ride, isn’t it? To Corellia…”

 

Braeda turned to look Finn, who was staring up at the sky in awe. On Finn's other side, Braeda could see the form of one Commander Poe Dameron, clutching Finn's hand in his own, and the Jedi had to resist the urge to grin. If Braeda had been educated in the era of the old Jedi order, he as a master would have felt obligated to warn his padawan against the dangers of attachment, if not completely forbid the relationship altogether.

 

What a hypocrite he would have been then... if Dameron was who made his padawan happy, then Braeda had no right to interfere in what the Force had seen fit to draw together.

 

"Yes, Finn." He said instead, lifting the hood of his robes over his head, letting the heavy fabric drape and obscure his face, "That would be our escort..."

 

Finn tore his attention from the approaching ship to look at Braeda, "Why do you have your hood up? You must be burning up in those heavy cloaks."

 

He was. Too long spent on starships instead of planets during his time as Hux had left Braeda ill-equipped to properly deal with a planet's climate. But he could live with sunburn and a bit of sweating.

 

"It's for the best I keep my anonymity, Finn." He smiled, the stubble of his growing bear rubbing against the edge of his hood, "Remember, I can hardly go greet Corellia or her people wearing the face of General Hux."

 

Finn blinked owlishly, and Braeda couldn't exactly blame him. General Hux seemed like a lifetime ago, even though logically, Braeda knew it had only been a matter of a handful of weeks since he stood on the bridge of Starkiller base and condemned an entire system to its doom.  
  
Rey had asked him how he could forgive Ben. Had she asked him how he could forgive himself, she would have found him unable to answer. Because he hadn't.  
  
Perhaps he never would.  
  
Perhaps he should throw off his hood and reveal himself to the Corellians, and let them do with him as they saw fit. It would be, at the very least, the beginnings of penance.  
  
Enough, you self-pitying fool. He chided himself for allowing his thoughts to drift into the darkness. Allowing himself to be tortured and killed in vengeance would not be penance for the lives he condemned and he knew it. He couldn't bring back the Hosnian system, but he could certainly be an instrument for their vengeance, their retribution.  
  
He had slaughtered billions, now it was only fair that he ensured he saved billions. And that meant not only defeating the First Order but ripping out the root of their evil...  
  
The deafening scream of a transport ship approaching the landing strip outside the hangar bay ripped Braeda from his thoughts.  
  
They were here.  
  
Many of the rebels made their way from the hangar out to the landing strip to greet the landing ship. It wasn't hard for Braeda to spot General Organa, as well as his former master, at the head of the group. It was only fitting, after all.  
  
Not to mention the most dramatic, as neither Skywalker twin so much as flinched at the powerful downdraft of the massive craft’s landing sequence, their only movement coming from the whipping and billowing of their respective cloaks and robes.  
  
If Braeda didn’t know better, he might have thought it was only a majestic coincidence that the General and the Master made quite the vision side by side.  
  
But then again, he did know better.  
  
“So…” Finn’s voice called in his ear, fighting the rush of the air around them, “Do you know who is escorting us to Corellia?”  
  
Braeda smiled, “I do, but I’m sure even if I gave you a name, it might not mean anything to you.”  
  
“Maybe not, but I might be able to take some meaning from it.” Came the voice of Dameron, “It has to be someone sympathetic to the Resistance’s cause.”  
  
“Oh yes, of course.” Breada nodded, not looking away from the sleek body of the Corellian ship, “Perhaps even a hero of the Rebel Alliance of ages past.”  
  
"Who would that be?" Rey whispered behind him, and Braeda had forced himself to sense, rather than to hear her question.  
  
He didn't answer. There was no need, as the ship's hatch released its latches with a pneumatic hiss that sent steam billowing in all directions. The latch slowly descended, and even with all the cacophony of sound that resonated with the Resistance, silence had fallen heavily enough that the sound of boots, treading down the durasteel steps of the ship's hatch, could be heard from across the entire base.  
  
There were several individuals disembarking from the ship at once, but all but one of them faded from notice. All eyes, Braeda knew, would be focused on the man adorn in an General's uniform. The uniform was well pressed and tailored, the medals on his chest gleamed and dazzled the casual observer, the hair on his head was, though faded from its inky black to a gunmetal gray, was still thick and healthy. And the man's dark eyes were as sharp as the men half his age.  
  
The moment of awe passed in a heartbeat, and Braeda could hear, with his ears and with the Force, the hushed whispers of awe, rumor, and disbelief at the appearance of General Wedge Antilles.  
  
General Organa smiled softly, stepping forward to greet the war hero, "Wedge, it's good to see you again." She nodded, taking both of his hands and squeezing them tightly.  
  
"Leia, good to see that you're still up and kicking up a fuss." Antilles smiled fondly, "There's still a thing or two to be taught to the next batch of fighters."  
  
"Don't I know it." She laughed, stepping away to allow the Jedi to greet his former squadron-mate.  
  
Master Skywalker was smiling, nearly grinning at the sight of Antilles, stepping forward with his arms outstretched to embrace his old comrade, “Wedge, long time, no—”  
  
His words were cut off as Jedi Master Luke Skywalker’s face had an abrupt meeting with General Wedge Antilles gloved fist.  
  
Braeda started at the sudden blow, and he could hear a number of gasps throughout the crowd (namely Rey and Finn at his side). Even Skywalker stumbled back, his eyes wide with more surprise than any sort of pain.  
  
Antilles’s fist became a stern finger jabbing into Skywalker’s chest. “That’s for leaving, you steaming pile of bantha shit!”  
  
Tensions were high as the Resistance watched as Luke Skywalker brought his gloved hand to his nose, touching it gingerly to test for breaks or blood, before turning his attention back to the angry General. “And what do I get for coming back?”  
  
There was mirth in the Jedi’s words, and Braeda had to smile slightly. Oh Master Skywalker… some things just don’t change…  
  
Antilles raised an eyebrow, “We’ll discuss that later.” He said, before turning back to General Organa, “Now, what do we need to do to get this show on the road?”  
  
And just like that, the mesmerizing hold the spectacle had held over the Resistance had been broken. Mechanics could return to their tasks, analysts could continue their calculations and translations, and pilots could return to their ships and wait in agitation for the next time they could take to the sky.  
  
As the Jedi Master and the two Generals made their way toward General Organa’s office, Braeda could overhear his former master’s voice.  
  
“Corellians, am I right?” He grinned to his sister.  
  
General Organa merely rolled her eyes as General Antilles promptly cuffed Skywalker on the back of his head.  
  
“Idiot.” Antilles muttered, shaking his head with a fond exasperation.  
  
Braeda smiled, turning to the others, “Come on, we best prepare for out departure.”

 

* * *

  
  
They would be leaving soon.  
  
Ben had heard the commotion over the arrival of General Antilles, but he couldn’t bring himself to go and join the rest of the Resistance, instead holing up in his and Braeda’s quarters. He couldn’t be out there with them, not even to be with Braeda.  
  
He wasn’t sure he could face Braeda. Not yet at least.  
  
His dream had shaken him more than he would have liked. Sure, most of his dream had been memory: the moment he and Braeda had shared as he had replaced his lover’s arm. Even the discussion of the meaning behind the engraving on his shoulder blade, and the wound it reopened.  
  
But the question…  
  
Ben knew that Braeda had wanted to ask him, he had felt the question on his lips as it begged to be vocalized once and for all. But when it had come down to it, Braeda had kept silent.  
  
And Ben knew why. For all the unflappability that was Braeda, all his level-headedness and collected emotions, Braeda was afraid.  
  
Afraid of the answer that Ben might give to such a potent and potentially poisonous question.  
  
Ben was afraid too. Because he didn’t know the answer.  
  
_“There never is an easy answer.”_  
  
Ben started at the unfamiliar voice, rising from where he had been sitting on the bed. He hadn’t heard the door open, and he certainly hadn’t sensed anyone else’s presence near the room, let alone inside the room.  
  
No, please don’t let him be hearing the voices again. He didn’t think he could bear it again…

 

_“Calm down, you’re not hearing voices. There’s no need to get overdramatic.”_

Ben turned toward the sound of the voice, his hand flexing to summon the lightsaber from its hiding place. One couldn’t be too careful when it was a time of war, he reasoned, his grip adjusting around the weapon as he scanned the room once more.

 

He could sense the presence long before he saw it, but that didn’t mean he was any less shocked as the soft ethereal glow of a Force ghost filled the room.

 

His uncle had spoken about his encounters with fallen Jedi who had become one with the Force: with his namesake, as well as Jedi Master Yoda. But Ben had never seen one for himself...no matter how he had pleaded.

 

The figure was roughly Ben’s own height, though not nearly as broad in the shoulders, nor as heavily built as Ben. The hair was similar in texture to Ben’s own, but lighter, shorter than Ben’s. The figure was wrapped in robes Ben had to assume were at least forty years out of style, almost too big on the other man’s form, though he wore a sardonic expression on his face with great aplomb.

 

“Who are you?” Ben found himself asking before he could stop himself, his heart racing his chest.

 

The ghost frowned, crossing his robed arms over his chest, “ _Really?”_ He scoffed, walking across the room, passed Ben, before turning to face him, _“After all this time_ pleading _for me to come to you, and_ that’s _the greeting I get? ‘Who are you?’--  Obi-wan is never going to let me hear the end of this…”_

 

Ben forced himself to take a closer look at the ghost: the old robes, the hair, the build. The scar across one eye… familiar eyes…

 

Uncle Luke’s eyes…

 

Ben’s heart skipped a beat, “Grandfather…”

 

Anakin Skywalker wrinkled his nose at the word, “ _While technically you are correct, it’s still unnerving to hear someone refer to me as such…”_ he shook his head, “ _Obi-wan is still giddy over the fact that he got to be the namesake...though considering my relationship with your mother and your father, I’m not surprised.”_

 

The ghost chuckled, but Ben’s mind was reeling far too much to grasp any sort of humor. His grandfather, Anakin Skywalker, the Hero without Fear, _Darth Vader,_ was standing before him. After so many years of speaking to a mangled helmet, he was speaking _back_ to him. How...why…

 

“Why are you here?” Ben whispered, trying and failing to catch his breath. His lungs wouldn’t fill, his chest squeezing in on itself as he desperately tried to breathe, “Why do you come to me now?”

 

The mirth vanished from Anakin’s face, and there was almost remorse on the Jedi hero’s face, _“I’m here because you needed me. I’m here to guide you.”_

 

“But why _now?_ ” Ben snapped, gripping the lightsaber tightly in his hand, “I’ve begged to hear from you for years, when the Light and the Dark tore my very _being_ apart, I cried out for you--”

 

 _“You wanted Darth Vader!”_ The ghost snapped, moving to jab his finger against Ben’s chest, but stopping short. The gesture wouldn’t have the same effect if his finger went straight through Ben, after all, “ _You were pleading for the Sith Lord, and I refused to be him again!”_

 

“Then you could have pushed me toward the Light so much sooner!” Ben shook his head, blinking back tears of frustration, “You could have called me back to the Light, and then maybe Braeda and I could have left the First Order before...before…”

 

 _“Before Hosnian.”_ Anakin finished, shaking his head, “ _And you’re right, I could have_ possibly _been able to persuade you back to the Light. But Ben…”_ He sighed, “ _By that same token, you could have just as easily tempted me back to the Dark Side.”_

 

Ben blinked at that, “What?”

 

 _“Do you think the Dark Side stops tormenting, stops_ tempting _, once you leave your corporeal body and become one with the Force? The two sides are one, and the temptation will always be there.”_ He closed his eyes, _“I couldn’t let myself get too close to you, not while Snoke was tempting you, not while you were Kylo Ren… because it was too much of a reminder of Darth Vader.  And after all the anguish I caused in life while on the Dark Side… there was no telling what I could do as an immortal spirit for.”_

 

The tears were pricking at Ben’s eyes again, “It was that much of a temptation for you?”

 

 _“You know it is. Because it was, is, and always will be a temptation.”_ The ghost of Anakin Skywalker slowly walked to Ben’s bed and sat, “ _You and I...we know the Dark Side is a sweet addiction, a temptation. It’s like spice, or the sweetest of drink or narcotics: you think you can handle it because the one or two hits you’ve taken have been the biggest rush, the highest of highs, you have ever experienced… but by the time you realize that you have gotten in over your head, it’s too late. You don’t control the Dark Side...the Dark Side controls you, and you lose all sense of your former self and what made you who you were…”_

 

The ghost buried his head in his hands, sighing deeply before continuing, “ _I killed the woman I loved with all my heart...and you tried to kill the boy you loved. I shudder to think what would have come to be if you had been successful.”_

 

“Please, I don’t want to think about that.” Ben shook his head, trying and failing to banish the image of Braeda’s broken body from his mind.

 

 _“But you know what I’m talking about, Ben.”_ Anakin picked up his head and looked at him with tired eyes, “ _You and I… our greatest struggle every day is keeping out backs to the Dark, and not chasing the sweet rush of that power…”_

 

Ben closed his eyes, fists clenched tightly. He did know what his grandfather was talking about, he did know the temptation the power of the Dark Side had over him, would always have over him… “How do you do it? How do you stay strong?”

 

“ _I should be asking you that, you’re stronger than I was.”_ His grandfather smirked, “ _I only turned from the Dark when I was watching my only son being tortured to death before my very eyes, pleading for me to save him… You turned back when you were offered the chance… and you fought off the first of your temptations…”_

 

Revan. Ben remembered their duel on the Ilum, and how close Ben had come to rendering Revan to pieces when the younger man had threatened Braeda. “It was a close thing.”

 

 _“But you still were victorious.”_ Anakin told him, standing once more, “ _Now, you have to continue the fight. You have to finish what I started.”_

 

That caused Ben to chuckle, a humorless sound, “Finish what you started?”

 

 _“Of course.”_ His grandfather was before him, and Ben could have sworn he felt the other’s grasp over the hand that gripped the lightsaber. His lightsaber, Ben realized. The relic of the Skywalker legacy. _“Walking away from the Dark, and into the Light.”_

 

“Ben?”

 

Ben turned quickly to see Braeda standing in the doorway, a look of confusion on his face.

 

“Are you alright?” He asked, as if sensing Ben’s emotional state. Then again, knowing Braeda, he could sense his quaking heart.

 

Ben opened his mouth to answer, to introduce him to the ghost of Anakin Skywalker. But when Ben looked back, the ghost was gone.

 

“Ben?” Braeda asked again, “Are you ready to go? They’re waiting for us.”

With a sigh, Ben nodded and clipped the lightsaber to his belt, “Yes...I’m ready.”

 

And he was. He was ready for Corellia...and he was ready to finish what his grandfather started.

 

* * *

 

The journey to Corellia was a long one, even in hyperspace. Plenty of time for the passengers to ponder on what was to come once they landed planetside. After all, this was different than missions performed before, this wasn’t an objective that could be solved with a few well placed detonators and heavy blaster fire.

 

No, this would require...niceties. Subterfuge. Negotiation.

 

Not exactly the Resistance’s strong point. But Luke Skywalker had every faith in the Resistance to do what needed to be done, personal preferences and beliefs aside.

 

“Lost in thought again, are you, Master?”

 

Luke smiled softly at his former padawan’s voice, though he did not turn his gaze away from the viewport and the streaking lights of hyperspace, “I thought I told you I wasn’t your master anymore.”

 

Braeda chuckled, stepping into Luke’s periphery, “I may not be your padawan, but you will always be Master Skywalker.” He smiled, “Besides, calling you ‘Luke’ after nearly thirty years is just far too bizarre for me, if I’m being honest.”

 

Luke laughed at that, “I can see how that might be odd.” He nodded, turning to look at his former apprentice for the first time.

 

Braeda still had his hood up, wisely, leaving the top half of his face cast in shadows. Between that and the grown in stubble on his jaw, Luke doubted many would make the connection between Braeda and General Hux. Wedge had given Braeda a critical eye, but Luke had done his best to direct his old friend’s attention elsewhere.

 

That being said…

 

“You know it would not be side for you to linger on Corellia, don’t you, Braeda?”

 

It was a tragic sense of irony, really, that the one person who would thive the best in this political mission was the one person who _couldn’t_ allow himself to be recognized on the planet. If it weren’t so frustrating, Luke might have laughed. Perhaps if Braeda hadn’t done such a good job, he wouldn’t have been such a memorable face… but, then again, perhaps that would have caused a million other things to go wrong…

 

Braeda sighed, “I do, Master Skywalker.” He murmured, “In fact, I’m surprised you’re allowing me to even accompany you on this mission.”

 

“You needed off that base.” Luke shook his head, “Honestly, all that meditation you were doing was going to start messing with your head.”

 

“While I’m certainly glad for your concern for my mental health, I have a feeling that perhaps you had other motives than simply that.”

 

Luke smirked at that. There were few things more observant than a scavenger, and a spy was one of them. It would be a miracle if he could slip anything by Braeda anymore. “True...I do have a mission for you, and by extension, Finn, of course.”

 

“A mission?” Luke couldn’t see it, but he was confident Braeda had quirked an eyebrow in curiosity, “Something more important than rallying planets to the Resistance’s side?”

 

“Perhaps not more important, fair enough.” He murmured softly, “But just as important, perhaps. You and I both know that there is a power greater than Starkiller lurching behind the veil of the First Order.”

 

Braeda hummed lowly, arms crossed over his chest, “Snoke.”

 

“Yes. And just like the Emperor, Snoke needs to be dealt with before we can be sure the First Order will be good and dead.” Luke nodded.

 

“Understood, Master.” The earnestness in Braeda’s voice had Luke thinking back to those bygone years when Braeda was the eager padawan who clung to his every word, who looked at him with eyes full of hope and wonder. Luke missed that boy, but he was proud of the man that boy became. “And you have a lead on where we should go?”

 

“I do.” Luke murmured softly, “I need you and Finn to go to the planet of Lothal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you all again for your thoughts and support, and you all know that your comments give me so much life and inspiration!
> 
> Also, I might need to rewatch Rebels (its been quite a while lol), but you know how it is!
> 
> Please, feel free to leave your thoughts and ideas of what might lie in wait during the next installment. I always find inspiration in your thoughts!
> 
> Thank you again!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness, it's hard getting back into the habit of things! Before I get started into the notes, I wanted to thank you all for such a warm welcome back! It's heartwarming to see all those who stuck around, as well as those who are knew to the Sleeper/Dreamers World. Your comments and support always manage to keep me going! 
> 
> I swear I was going to post on Saturday/Sunday morning, but I had to attend the funeral of a family friend (an older gentleman who watched me grow up), so that put the kibosh on a Saturday evening post.
> 
> Also, I am really crappy at talking politics, so I apologize for the political drama there (current penpen is still mad at 2016 penpen for insisting on politics being brought up). 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

The dull roar of the Corellian capital was so unlike the many nights of solitude that Luke had become used to in the last few years. In some ways, it had been refreshing to be able to meditate with only his own company and the Force to guide him. But in other ways… being so close to so many lives thrumming with the Force was so very invigorating.

He had missed this. He had missed the people: friends, family, the innocent, the not so innocent. He had missed the places: the cities, the ports, the forests and jungles, even the deserts. He had missed being a Jedi, a Jedi with a purpose, a mission… and students.

“Mind if I intrude on the glorious brooding of a Jedi knight in order to bring a night cap?”

Luke turned his attention away from the window to see Wedge approaching, a cup in each hand. “I really shouldn’t. I’ve never been much of a a drinker.”

“Relax, Luke, it’s hot chocolate.” The graying General smiled softly as he set the mug in front of the Jedi master, its delicate steam wafting skyward.

“I suppose some things never to change.” Luke smiled softly, picking up the mug and taking a small sip.

“Some things, perhaps. But for me, I learned to like a good bit of brandy in the evening.” Wedge nodded, sipping the amber liquid in his glass slowly as he sunk into the seat beside Luke, “Though I would prefer it if you did change your habit of dramatic disappearing acts.”

Luke had the dignity to look sheepish, “Trust me, I never intended to disappear for so long.” He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face, “After the massacre—after I lost almost all of my padawans…”

“No one blames you for being devastated, Luke.” Wedge shook his head, “But you didn’t need to run and hide—”

“Yes, Wedge, I did.” Luke’s fingers gently traced the rim of the mug as he stared down into the rich dark brown contents within, “Snoke and the Knights of Ren wanted to end all the Jedi. He had Ben, Rey was just a child, and Braeda was on his death bed.” He bowed his head, “I was who Snoke wanted, his big prize.”

“Of course you were, Luke. You almost single handedly revived the Jedi way—”

“Yes, and to keep Snoke from my only remaining students, I gave him something to chase, something to hunt.” Luke nodded, “With the attention on me— the hunt for the mysterious Luke Skywalker—” He scoffed at the ridiculousness of it all, “He would be less likely to notice Braeda slipping into the First Order as a mole, he wouldn’t kill Rey…”

Wedge frowned, watching the younger man closely, “You didn’t need to hide for fifteen years just for that, Luke. You could have come to any of us, you know that.”

“I did, I do.” Luke gave Wedge a weak smile, taking a sip of his cocoa, “I didn’t spend all of that time hiding on an uninhabited planet, you know.”

“You would manage to find and live on an uninhabited planet.”

“It was quite nice, actually.” He nodded, taking another drink, “But for the rest of the time I spent away, I was researching.”

For a moment, Wedge simply stared at Luke incredulously. Then, he took a swallow of his brandy that was no doubt more for substance than for taste, “Research, Luke? Since when did you become a scholar?”

“You’d be surprised how a man can change when he needs to, Wedge, and do be careful with that drink. I would hate for you to be intoxicated.” Mirth was in Luke’s eyes as he drank his cocoa slowly, “But I had to find out more about the so-called Supreme Leader Snoke. A being of that power, that leadership does not just appear out of nowhere. People like that come from somewhere, they’re created, they’re made, they have history… I needed to find that history.”

That got Wedge’s attention. “And? Did you find the history you were after?”

A wry smirk spread across Luke’s face, “Indeed I did. And, if I’m quite honest, it is an interesting tale at that.” He chuckled, “And I’m sure what Braeda finds will bring some much needed clarity to everything.”

* * *

 

  
When Finn learned he would be going on a separate mission to Lothal, he was… conflicted, to say the least. On one hand, Finn was grateful to take part in a mission that wasn’t political in nature. Politics just wasn’t Finn’s strength, either to speak it or to suffer it. Give him a blaster and tell him to go blow something up, and he would be more than happy to oblige.

On the other hand… it meant that he would be under Braeda’s command for this mission, without Rey or Luke Skywalker or even Ben to act as a buffer. Finn was still trying to come to terms with his last heart to heart conversation with Braeda (and the word “donated” still ached in his core, no matter what comfort Poe’s words gave him), and to spend the mission under his command… well, it would be hard.

But perhaps that was the point. And perhaps being away from the others would allow Finn to focus on his supposed ability with the Force.

But that didn’t mean he had to like Lothal.

“You alright, Finn?” Poe asked, his voice laced with concern.

That was perhaps the best part of his mission with Braeda— Poe was their pilot (apparently the one skill Braeda didn’t have was flying, which Finn couldn’t help finding amusing). On an official basis, Poe was to serve as their official Resistance protection.

Unofficially, though…

He shook himself from those thoughts, "I don't know how anyone could live in a place like this..." Finn muttered sourly, tucking his mouth and nose into the collar of his jacket.

Ever since Poe had piloted their ship through the stratosphere of Lothal, all Finn had been able to see was gray. Gray of the smog-ridden sky. Gray of the endless collections of empty buildings. Gray of the people who, despite their diversity in race and shape, still blended together into a hopeless blur.

Finn could live with the gray, he supposed, if the whole place didn’t feel so… dead. Logically he knew the planet, or at least Capital City, was alive with people. But looking at the individual people…they might not be dead, but they certainly weren’t living.

“This place gives me the creeps.” He whispered, not wanting to be overhead by any passersby as the three of them made their way from the Capital City port.

Braeda shook his head fondly as if amused by Finn's sour mood. Then again, Finn wouldn't have been surprised if the Jedi had taken amusement out of his predicament, "The sad thing, Finn, is that it wasn't too long ago that Lothal was a beautiful planet with wide plains and towering Spine trees. It used to be a rural, agricultural planet, with only the Capital City as its true urban center."

"Yeah, until the Empire came to town." Poe added, staying close to Finn's side as they made their way from the port through Capital City's streets.

"The Empire was fifty years ago..." Finn murmured.

"But still within some people's memories." Braeda reminded him, "Anyone older than, say, General Organa or Master Skywalker. It's hard to grasp that so much has happened in the span of less than a century..." He sighed, "But as Poe was I'm sure about to say, when the Empire rose to power, they decided to boost Lothal's industry. And so forests were cut down, and factories were built, turning a former agricultural planet into an industrial one."

"Then the Rebellion defeated the Empire." Finn nodded, looking around at the empty storefronts with their busted windows and crooked-hanging doors, “Shouldn’t things have gotten better?”

“You’d think so, Finn.” Poe sighed, and Finn could feel the pilot’s gloved hand brushing against his own, “You’d hope so, even.”

“But here’s the thing about industry, Finn: it may destroy the beauty of a planet, but it provides jobs.” Braeda murmured, “Factories need workers, after all. But once the Empire was gone, there was no one footing the bill in the factories, the factories shut down, people are out of jobs, and now all that’s left is a husk of a formerly industrial city.”

“The Rebellion might have won the war, Finn, but winning wars doesn’t make the forests grow back.” Poe murmured, reaching out and gently taking Finn’s hand in his own.

Despite the turn of the conversation, Finn couldn’t help but smile.

"Planets like Lothal are the reason that the First Order was able to get into power in the first place." Braeda muttered, though to Finn's ear, it sounded suspiciously like the Jedi had spat the words.

"I thought the First Order came to be because of Imperials hold outs with a vendetta." Finn raised an eyebrow.

Braeda shrugged, "That may be true for the beginnings of the First Order, but when you take a look at Lothal and planets like it, planets that were left in shambles after the war and, according to the First Order's propaganda, left to rot by the New Republic... It’s easy to see how some desperate, dying planets might have been swayed by the promise of things becoming better."

"Even at the price of other planets?" Fin frowned. He had only been on Lothal for a few minutes and he was liking the place less and less; he didn't want to imagine that Lothal was affiliated with the First Order. That they were associated with what happened on Hosnian.

"To be fair, Finn...I doubt those planets really knew the intentions of the First Order until it was too late." Braeda smiled weakly, "And Lothal...well, Lothal had little to offer the First Order, so it was overlooked by both the New Republic, as well as the First Order."

They walked in silence after that for several minutes, with Finn and Poe following behind Braeda, who apparently knew his way around Lothal somehow.

"So, I take it you've been here before?" Finn found himself asking as he and Poe tried to keep up with Braeda's longer strides.

Braeda looked back at them, a small smile peeking out from under his hood, "Once before. With Master Skywalker."

"What brought you both to Lothal?" Poe asked, curiosity in his voice.

"What else? Master Skywalker felt something in the Force, so he came here to investigate. He brought me along with him, because he hadn't established the actual temple yet." Braeda hummed, "We ended up finding a Rodian child who was strong in the Force, so Master Skywalker added him to his pupils."

Finn didn't ask what happened to that child, and he was grateful that Poe hadn't asked either.

"Its amazing that Master Skywalker can feel shifts in the Force that far away." Poe admitted, "It seems rather...impossible, actually."

"It isn't so much impossible as it is very hard to achieve." The Jedi shrugged, "Once one has built a connection to the Force, has become one with the Force in the way the Force is with you, then the Force has a tendency to...I suppose guide you."

"I really wish I knew what you meant." Finn muttered as the three turned down an alley, where they could talk more freely.

Braeda chuckled, "Did you know that the Force led me to you, Finn? I was never supposed to know you existed." He smiled at that, "Imagine what might have happened if a clerical error had not brought you to my attention."

Poe raised an eyebrow, "You know, I may not be a Jedi or anything, but I doubt the Force works in things as small as clerical errors. Sounds like a stroke of luck if you ask me."

"And that, mister Dameron, is where most fail to see the true nature of the Force." Braeda shook his head, opening his mouth to speak once more before a shape stepped into their way, blocking their path.

"Empty your pockets, and I might let you live." Came the gruff bark of the grizzled human in front of them, his blaster leveled at Braeda.

Poe was halfway to his blaster before he heard Braeda speak.

 _“We don’t have anything of value to you.”_ The Jedi said with a calm surety that left no room for doubt.

The thug blinked owlishly for a moment, “You don’t have anything of value to me.”

Braeda waved his hand over the grunt’s face, _“You need to go home and find another line of work.”_

“I need to go home and find another line of work…” The man went to move past them and leave them be.

But before he could take more than a few steps away from them, Braeda spoke again, _“You should give me that blaster, you won’t be needing it anymore.”_

The man shook his head violently before turning back to Braeda. “I should give you this blaster.” He muttered absently, unholstering the blaster and handing it to the Jedi, “I won’t be needing it anymore.”

Braeda just gave the man a mild smile as he turn and went on his way. Once the would-be robber was out of sight, he turned back to Finn and Poe, “You were saying?”

“You were the one talking…” Poe muttered, before looking at Finn, “Can you imagine what a nightmare it would have been if General Hux could do that?”

“Well, technically…”

“Shut up.”

* * *

 

Rey was not happy. She was not happy one bit.

Braeda had gone on a top secret side mission for Master Skywalker, and had taken Finn and Poe with him.

Which left her alone with Ben as Master Skywalker’s only entourage.

What was Braeda _thinking_? Leaving her alone with _him_ , of all people…

“I can hear your anger from here, Rey.”

Rey turned her attention away from the view of Corellia’s cityscape to the towering figure of Ben Solo as he stood in front of her.

“Good.” She muttered, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the railing of General Antilles’s balcony.

“Children.” Came the exasperated voice of Master Skywalker, “While I understand that there is a certain tension between you both, but now would not be the best time to start bickering. We can leave that to the politicians.”

Rey bit her tongue, turning her attention pointedly away from Ben as she followed Master Skywalker off the balcony, and through the General’s apartments.

General Antilles gave them each a curious look, eyebrow raised.

"They going to be alright, Luke?" He asked, his voice lowered, but hardly out of earshot of both Rey and Ben.

Master Skywalker shrugged, "They have no other option than to be alright, Wedge. We have more important things to worry about right now."

Rey was tempted to argue that she wasn't just upset about some petty argument, but rather her attempted murder and the vicious murder of her friends, but she resisted the urge. She would prove that she could control herself.

Like Master Skywalker said. She had no other option than to be alright.

Taking a deep breath, Rey secured the lightstaff Braeda had gifted her to her belt, the magnetized clip holding it in place across the small of her back. She hadn't exactly used the weapon yet...and she hoped she wouldn't have to anytime soon.

* * *

 

Ben Solo was not happy. He was not happy at all.

After everything he had gone through to get Braeda back to his side, and for Braeda to go off on a top secret side mission (one that not even he was privilege to, no matter how he pestered Uncle Luke).

Ben didn't like it, he didn't like it one bit. Being away from Braeda was like opening a fresh wound.

_You do realize you'll have to learn to work separate from him eventually, right?_

And now Ben had to also deal with the voice of his grandfather in the back of his mind. Brilliant.

"You alright, Ben?"

Ben spared a glance toward his uncle, his master in the ways of the Force (again), "I'm... uneasy." He admitted. It was weird, being upfront with his feelings to other people, instead of venting his emotional turmoil to a half-melted mask.

_Speaking of which, how did you find that thing? It exploded with the Death Star II, how did it even survive?_

_Is that even  remotely important right now?_

"That's fair enough, I suppose, Ben." Uncle Luke nodded, "I would have been surprised if you weren't uneasy."

"I wish you would tell me what Braeda is up to..." He shook his head as he followed by his uncle's side as General Antilles led them into the Corellian capital.

His uncle shook his head, "I can't tell you specifically what Braeda is doing, but I need you to trust me that it is not something that would bring him into harm's way."

"You don't know that."

"Well, it shouldn't bring him into harm's way. It's a research mission."

"Then why did he need Finn and Dameron?"

"Because Finn is is padawan, and Dameron needed to fly them."

"I could have flown them..."

"Ben." His uncle's voice was gentle, though Ben could feel the exasperation, "I need you here, with me, on this one. This is important, Ben."

He knew that, he knew that the Resistance needed Corellia's support if they were to have a chance to start gaining momentum against the First Order. But still...Ben had never been a politician.

"Nor would I expect you to be, Ben." Uncle Luke smiled, "Though, truth be told, your mother should be the one here, not me. I'm not much of a politician either."

"Liar." Ben rolled his eyes, "It might have been a while since I was a padawan, but I distinctly remember you bearing the green blade of a Consular." He gave a pointed look to the lightsaber at his uncle's hip.

"I've also been a hermit for the past fifteen years."

"Liar." This time, it was General Antilles who spoke, glancing over his shoulder at Luke as he led them through the hallways of the capital.

Luke sighed dramatically, "You're supposed to be on my side, Wedge."

"Says who?" The general rolled his eyes, turning completely to face the three of them as they came to a stop outside a large entrance gate.

Ben came to a stop behind his uncle, standing next to Rey. He knew that the young woman was making a pointed effort to keep from speaking to him (for which she couldn't blame him-- with the memories of the temple massacre fresh in her mind now), and though she was doing her best to contain her contempt, Ben could still feel its considerate presence through the Force (she might have been a natural with the Force, but her training was not yet complete).

"Alright, listen." General Antilles said firmly, looking to each of them, "The Corellian House of Representatives are a bureaucratic bunch, and they're skittish since Hosnian--"

"Everyone is skittish since Hosnian, Wedge." Luke said softly.

"Yes, I know, but I'm just letting you know." Antilles continued, crossing his arms over his chest, "Starkiller might be gone, but that doesn't mean it doesn't haunt people still. I'm going in there with a proposal to go to war... You know what that'll make me, Luke?"

Luke smiled weakly, "The stereotypical war-hungry General. I see. And where do we come in?"

Antilles sighed, "Once I make my initial proposal, I'll introduce you...please, please don't do anything over dramatic, Luke, I'm begging you."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Wedge." Luke gave an innocent smile to his old war friend.

 _Liar._ Ben couldn't help but think.

 _It runs in the family._ Came the voice in Ben's head.

* * *

 

Wedge Antilles could honestly say that his life had taken many turns over the years. From Starstrike Academy and being an Imperial TIE pilot, to defecting to the Rebellion. From being one of two survivors of Red Squadron with Luke Skywalker, to serving with him as a member of Rogue Squadron (Wedge still kept his Rogue Three patch among his most precious belongings). He was one of two Death Star destroyers, a title that he wore with pride, not so much for the action of destruction itself, but for what the action represented: the downfall of the Empire.

And while the years that had followed had certainly not been boring, to say the least, it was certainly a slower pace than his previous life.

That being said, if given the choice, General Wedge Antilles would have gladly made another run at the Death Star II rather than stand before the Corellian House of Representatives.

"--It is not my desire for war, despite what my title might suggest." Wedge concluded his prepared speech, "But I am afraid that the First Order has made it abundantly clear to the galaxy that they will not stop unless they are stopped. Corellia cannot stand by and allow another Empire to rise from the ashes of Hosnian. Not while we have the means and the ability to fight them while they are weakened."

The Representatives were listening with perhaps half their attention (Perhaps three quarters, for some of the more attentive ones). But they hardly needed to listen to Wedge's words: they all already knew about the fate of Hosnian Prime and the New Republic. This wasn't news to them, Wedge wasn't proposing something that hadn't already been churning in at least half of their minds.

And that was what Wedge hoped would tip the scales in the Resistance's favor.

"If it would please the House, I wish to call forth someone who has as much experience in fighting off tyranny as I do, if not more so." He stated calmly before sparing a glance backward, "Jedi Master Luke Skywalker, here representing General Leia Organa."

The House was buzzing with whispers as Luke stood slowly from his seat, and Wedge could have sworn that time slowed down as his friend approached where Wedge stood to address the Representatives.

Luke bowed graciously to the high stands of the Corellian House, seeming to give each Representative their own regard in a single gesture.

"Thank you all for assembling here today to listen to General Antilles." Luke began, his voice as soft and as strong as it had been thirty years ago.

Thirty years. It couldn't possibly have been that long since the two of them were suiting up for the first run at the Death Star, not quite believing they were indestructible, but still resistant of the possibility of their own demise. Thirty years since Wedge first laid eyes on the plucky little farm boy from Tatooine, bright-eyed and golden-haired and far too innocent to have successfully pulled a prison break out of the Death Star.

And then promptly blow the damn thing to smithereens.

And then somehow, they had gotten old.

No, perhaps that was true for Wedge. Luke hadn't grown old, he had grown into a legend.

Then again, Wedge had known that for thirty years.

"--We have the plans and the information to destroy the First Order once and for all." Luke was finishing, "But the Resistance cannot do it alone. We need to rally every remaining free planet to take the necessary steps toward ensuring that there will never be another Starkiller, another Deathstar, another Alderaan or Hosnian System. We can end this war before the First Order tries to start it again.

"Thank you for allowing me to speak to you today on behalf of my sister." Luke bowed his head in thanks, hands clasped in front of him as he waited to hear the responses from the Representatives.

One of the Representatives stood from her seat, one Mara Jinz, if her name placard in front of her was any indication, "Thank you Master Skywalker..." She began, as if unable to believe that she was saying those words. Not that Wedge would have blamed her, "For your words of encouragement and enlightening us to the situation with the Resistance. And...if I may say...welcome back."

Luke smiled softly, "Thank you...it's good to be back, Representative Jinz."

"What does the Resistance want us to do, exactly?" Called another Representative, Finon Korra, standing as Jinz took her seat, "Is there a plan already in the works?"

"As of right now, I cannot disclose if any plans are in the works." Luke shook his head, "I'm sure you all can appreciate the use of discretion when it comes to times of war. As for what the Resistance asks of Corellia, all we want to know is if Corellia will stand with the Resistance against the First Order, if her Navy will fly against the enemy and stand to protect those planets without the military or the resources to defend themselves."

"And what if the Resistance asks for too much of Corellia's fighters?" Came the voice of Nej Cyone, "I will not ask our troops to serve in suicide missions!"

"Nor would I ask you to ask that of your troops, Representative Cyone." Luke sighed, his expression more sympathetic than annoyed at the man's aversion to war, "Any leader worth their title would wish to spare their people bloodshed. And if I could promise you no casualties, then I would do so in a heartbeat. But to speak those words here and now would be a lie, and we would all know it. The First Order has already drawn first blood when they streaked the galaxy with the red of Hosnian's death.

"That being said, the Resistance has more planned than some suicide bomber attacks on First Order bases." He nodded firmly.

Jinz stood again, "Our fleet is mighty, if we are not alone when we stand with the Resistance--"

"But we would be alone, wouldn't we?" A harsh bellow echoed over the voices of the other Representatives as Gredarr Brandes took center stage in the House's drama.

Wedge cursed inwardly. Could the odious man not keep his outdated thoughts to himself for a change?

"Tell me, Master Skywalker, how many other planets have joined in the Resistance's vendetta against the First Order?"

Wedge could see the slight tightening in Luke's jaw, "Considering the fact we have only begun to visit planets, Corellia is the first we have been able to speak to."

"And who else would be mad enough to follow the guidance of the Resistance? You can hardly remain impartial when it comes to the Resistance's leadership."

"If that is meant to be a slight against my sister's leadership abilities, I suggest you take that up with her."

"Organa has been wanting war for years!" Brandes barked down at Luke, and Wedge had to resist the urge to clench his fists. "And now that the New Republic has been destroyed by the First Order, now the Resistance _conveniently_ has top secret First Order documents that could be used to destroy them?"

The House grew frightfully cold after that, and though there was no proof, Wedge was certain it was connected to the dark look on Luke's face. But, thankfully, Luke did not do anything more dramatic. Wedge doubted it would have swayed Brandes much if Luke had tossed the man across the room with the Force.

"I'm sure you're not suggesting that General Leia Organa has been conspiring with the First Order in hopes of inciting war," Luke spoke calmly, though, if anything, that made the chills running up and down Wedge's spine all the more frightening.

Once the words were spoken, the entire House erupted into chaos as Representatives shouted back and forth about the implications of Hosnian Prime, Starkiller, and the Resistance's plans.

Wedge didn't need to be a Jedi to sense the turmoil roiling among each of the Representatives, and how that turmoil would ultimately not be beneficial to their cause. If Wedge could curse Brandes from his office, he could. Honestly, men like Brandes were the reason there should be term limits in the Corellian House of Representatives.

The General quickly flicked his eyes over the gathered Representatives as they argued. Jinz was vocally campaigning for their cause, he noted. Olen and Korra, as well. Cyone was a toss-up, but he seemed to be repulsed by Brandes's allegations if his expression was anything to go by. But Venka Brastee was clearly arguing against joining the Resistance, as well as Jaa Horne.

As Wedge continued his mental tally, he could feel his gut twisting into a knot. If the House voted now, they would vote to abstain from the Resistance, from the war.

They could not afford that.

"Things aren't going as well as we hoped," Luke spoke lowly to Wedge as the arguments raged on.

Wedge shook his head, "If they vote now--"

"I know Wedge, I counted." Luke sighed, "What can we do? What are our options for postponing their vote?"

Wedge looked at Luke, "Postponing the vote?" He raised an eyebrow.

"If we can address them again, with better counterarguments for Brandes...perhaps we can put them more at ease."

The General shook his head, "If perhaps they called a recess to reconvene at a later time... but I doubt anyone is about to motion for that right now."

Luke raised an eyebrow at him, and Wedge could see the slightest twinkle in his eye.

"Luke, don't--"

It was too late though, as Luke made the smallest of motions with his hand and, shortly after, Mara Jinz was using her gavel to call the House to order.

"I motion the House enter recess for the remainder of the day, pending review of the evidence and testimony of the current proposal," Jinz called firmly over the dying din of the others.

Korra raised his hand, "I second the motion."

"All those in favor?"

The name placards of all those in favor of the recess immediately lit up a bright green. Wedge just counted his luck that the House wasn't quite ready to vote on the fate of the universe just yet.

"The House will Recess until 0800 tomorrow morning." Jinz commanded, slamming her gavel once more.

Wedge sighed heavily as he turned back to look at Luke, “I can’t believe you…”

“You know I wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.” Luke whispered back.

That was the problem. It shouldn’t have been necessary in the first place.

* * *

 

Ben was teeming with anger at the Corellian House. No wonder his father had never really gone back to his home planet, if they were all as stupid and weak as the idiots who dared call themselves Representatives of the planet.

_Calm down, Ben. Getting angry at a politician for being spineless cowards is like getting angry at a light saber for cutting off your fingers when you grab it by the blade. Anakin’s voice sounded in the back of his mind._

_Says the man who has lost all his limbs to lightsabers, multiple times._

“Ben, I can feel your anger from here.” Uncle Luke called to him from the other room.

They were back in General Antilles's apartment overlooking the capital city, with both Uncle Luke and the General sitting in the main room, sipping their choice of drinks. Ben had been standing on the balcony in hopes that he could get some fresh air to perhaps clear his head.

He sighed, making his way back into the room, "How can you be calm at a time like this?"

"Because being calm is the only way to properly address this issue." Luke replied, sipping what Ben knew to be hot chocolate (some things didn't change) before setting down his mug, "Do you need to join Rey in meditation?"

Rey had almost been as furious at the outcome as Ben had been. Rey was just...not as good as hiding the emotion as he was.

"No, no..." Ben shook his head as he sank into a seat. He accepted the brandy Antilles offered him with a nod of thanks, pouring himself two fingers before taking a long sip. It burned, and that was what Ben wanted, "Uncle, you know the meeting at the House should not have gone like that."

"I do, Ben." His uncle nodded, "I knew there would be those hesitant to go to war, there always are. But for such a vehement reaction, not to mention those allegations..."

"I can't believe that toad even dared suggest Mom would do such a thing." Ben muttered, "She's three times the person he'd ever be."

"Agreed." Luke hummed, then smiled softly, "On a brighter note, I am proud of you for resisting the urge to choke him, throw him against the wall, or cut him to pieces with your lightsaber."

Looking back on it, Ben half wished he had. Half. But the fact that the urge hadn't snuck up on him during the House meeting was a welcome relief.

That's for certain, I would have choked half the House if it had been me in there.

Yes, I'm well aware of your fondness for choking people, grandfather.

"We need to come up with a plan for dealing with Brandes." General Antilles said with a nod, "We need to address his ludicrous accusations, and convince the rest of the House that the Resistance is their only feasible option at this point in the war."

"I know, Wedge." Luke murmured softly, sipping his hot chocolate slowly, "This whole affair is...troubling."

"Understatement of the millennia Luke." Antilles shook his head.

Ben ran his hand through his hair as the Jedi and the General began talking in earnest about their possible debate strategies when it came to Representative Grendarr Brandes. He couldn't help but wonder how Braeda was doing on his mission. Was he nearly complete with his mission? Had he and Finn found what Uncle Luke had sent them for? Would it help them with the situation with the Corellians, or perhaps future planets they spoke to?

A sharp beep jerked Ben from his thoughts as General Antilles's datapad sprung to life with an URGENT banner streaked in orange across the screen. Immediately, the General stood, taking the datapad into his personal chambers to field the no doubt classified correspondence.

“Uncle…” Ben began softly, hesitating as he tried to collect his thoughts. Swallowing another mouthful of brandy, he continued, “What will happen if Corellia refuses to join the Resistance?”

“I can’t bring myself to think of that as an option.” Uncle Luke sighed heavily, “But I suppose we move to the next planet and go from there…”

Ben wasn’t an idiot, he knew that they had all the advantages on Corellia, namely Uncle Luke’s close connections with General Antilles, who was able to secure them audience with the House in the first place. Who was to say other planets wouldn’t just slam the metaphorical door in their faces?

If they lost Corellia… like Uncle Luke said, Ben couldn’t bring himself to think of it as an option.

The door to Antilles’s room slid open to admit the General back into the main room, though the man’s pale face had gone completely ashen.

“What’s wrong, Wedge?” Luke asked, frowning.

Antilles grabbed his glass, downing what liquid was left in it without so much as breaking off his stare into the distance, “…One of the Representatives was murdered in their office after the meeting, Luke.”

At once, both Ben and Luke were on their feet.

“Murdered?” Ben blinked, “Was it Jinz? She’s our strongest supporter, if we lose her, then—”

The General shook his head, looking directly at Luke, “Representative Grendarr Brandes was found stabbed to death in his office.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bum-bum-Ba-Da!
> 
> So um... I suppose it's only fitting I end a chapter in a cliff hanger (even if this one was a weak cliffhanger). I hope you guys don't mind too terribly much. I swear the amount of politicking will be going down drastically now that...well, people are dying, I suppose.
> 
> Fun fact: one of the scenes for this chapter was actually written back in 2016, but didn't make the cut for Chapter 7, instead being moved to this chapter! (Feel free to guess if the fancy strikes)
> 
> As always guys, leave me your comments and your thoughts, I always love to hear from you all!
> 
> Thank you all again!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, back again! I am determined to try and keep on track with writing again! Even though Dreamers is a way different beast than Sleeper ever was. I'm realizing that while Sleeper was a relatively straightforward plot with a lot of flashbacks, Dreamers has a lot of different plots and a lot of characters who need their own attentions (sorry, penpen being reflective again!)
> 
> I know last chapter might not have been the greatest, but I'm hoping that I'll get my writing chops back in action soon enough!
> 
> Enjoy Chapter 9!

Finn was no stranger to long hours of standing and walking and marching. After all, he was a former Stormtrooper, marching had more or less been his life.

That being said, that didn’t mean he was terribly fond of walking for hours on end. Especially in a vast and empty space like Lothal. He and Poe had been following behind Braeda for the last hour around the streets of Capital City, then into the more sparsely populated slums. Now, the three of them had left the city altogether, making their way across what appeared to be a desolate wasteland.

Perhaps it had been a parie in another lifetime, Finn mused, looking around at the sparse patches of wispy grass. There might have been a time when wildlife might have thrived there.

“If we were going to walk this far out,” Poe interupted the silence, “Then I might as well have just flown the ship over here, rather than dock at the Captial City port.”

Braeda shook his head, “It would have drawn attention to us if we landed out here in the middle of nowhere. We can’t afford attention at this point.”

“But why are we here?” Finn asked, “Are you going to tell us about this mission now?”

A moment passed, and Finn was half convinced that Braeda would simply ignore the question in lieu of more walking.

“I suppose I can tell you now that we’re away from prying ears.”

Or not.

Braeda looked at Finn and gave him one of those inegmatic non-smiles before continueing, “You see, with all the military might in the First Order, there lies a more…illusive threat behind the scenes, pulling the strings behind the opporation, so to speak.”

Poe gave a heavy huff, “You mean their Supreme Leader.” He snorted, “What a self-aggrandizing title…”

“Title aside, Snoke is a very real threat, Commander Dameron.” Braeda shook his head, “As the only one of the three of us who has actually spoken to him… I assure you even if we dismantled the First Order, Snoke would only find a way to revive something from its ashes. Much in the same way the First Order was revived from the ashes of the Empire.”

“Then its lather, rinse, repeat for the galaxy’s never ending war.” Poe finished.

“In not so many words, yes.” Braeda nodded, “So Master Skywalker, in his absence from the war’s forefront, has been trying to unravel the mystery that is Snoke. His investigation is almost complete, we are merely following his lead.”

Finn nodded, “So we’re following the lead to its end?” He asked, his mind piecing together everything he knew about Snoke, Master Skywalker, and Braeda.

Braeda shook his head, “Oh no Finn. We already know its end: Snoke is the end. We’re here to find the beginning, the man who would become Snoke.”

Poe raised an eyebrow, “And how will that help us?”

“Supreme Leaders might not have weaknesses, but it seems that mortal men do.”

At once, Braeda stopped, and it was all Finn and Poe could do to keep from running into his back.

“There, my friends, it our destination.”

Finn looked ahead into Lothal’s dense smog. For half a second, he thought that perhaps Braeda was either out of his mind or able to see something with his Jedi eyes that he and Poe could not.

But then, Finn saw it.

In the distance, took a towering, if crumbling, spire. Perhaps a former sentry tower, or a communication tower, but long since out of use.

“What are you hoping to find there?” Poe whispered, looking up as the decomposing giant.

“The meaning to Master Skywalker’s last clue.” Braeda murmured, pulling up a datapad. He opened several files, files Finn realized were the culmination of all of Master Skywalker’s research into Supreme Leader Snoke.

The last file only had one ominous title in it.

_Specter Six._

* * *

 

Ben’s heart clenched at the words. Brandes was dead. Their opponent in the Corellian House of Representatives was dead.

But before he could even think to celebrate the fact, the reality of the situation crashed in after the news.

Grendarr Brandes had been murdered.

Brandes had been stabbed to death. Mere hours after he had argued with Uncle Luke in front of an entire building full of politicians.

“Why would anyone stab someone to death?”

The men of the room turned their attention sharply to Rey, who was standing in the doorway of the bedroom she and Ben shared.

Ben couldn’t help but agree, “It doesn’t make sense. There are easier ways to kill someone: poison, or even a blaster. But to stab someone… that’s barbaric.”

Uncle Luke didn’t seem as fazed as he should have been, looking back at General Antilles, “I take it the Representative was not stabbed with an ordinary weapon?”

Antilles sighed heavily, looking at his datapad for further details, “Brandes wounds…were cauterized. The only blood at the scene at the scene was that of an unknown suspect. Possibly the killer.”

Ben wasn’t an idiot. He knew what the Antilles was implying when he mentioned the cauterized wounds. Cauterized stab wounds. Lightsaber wounds.

“You can’t possibly think it was any of us.” Ben frowned, glaring at the General.

The General gave him a very sardonic look, "Kid, even if I hadn't been the best of friends with your uncle since before you were born, I am keenly aware that you three have been in my line of sight all day, save for the three minutes Rey had spent washing up in the 'fresher." He shook his head.

"Go easy on him, Wedge." Uncle Luke sighed, "Tensions have been high for all of us right now, and it's...a bit of an odd occurrence for this to happen."

"That's an understatement, Luke." Antilles muttered, running a hand through his iron hair, "You know what this will look like, don't you?"

"Of course we know." Ben interrupted, "But like you said, you can vouch for us being with you the entire time."

Before the conversation could continue, the front door began to chime, alerting to all in the apartment of newcomers.

"I don't need the Force to tell me this can't be good..." Antilles groaned, moving toward the front door to grant access to the visitor.

Ben couldn't help but echo the sentiment.

And the bad feeling only got worse when the door to Wedge Antilles's apartment opened, and in an instant, several armed officers of the Corellian Army.

"What is the meaning of this?" Antilles frowned at the squadron of men.

The highest ranking of that squadron, a Captain, stepped forth, "General Antilles, I am sure you have been made aware of the murder of Representative Brandes?"

"Of course I have, Captain Torres." The General frowned, "But what I don't see what that has to do with you lot coming to my apartment at this time of night."

A lie, Ben noted, but it hardly mattered at this point.

The Captain gave her General a curt nod before pulling out her datapad and showing it to Antilles, "We have a warrant for the arrest of Luke Skywalker, for the murder of Representative Grendarr Brandes?"

"What?" Ben spat, horrified and disgusted.

"You can't do that!" Rey looked furious, and Ben actually had to grab her wrist to keep her from going for the lightstaff. Her control on her temper was hardly any better than his right now.

General Antilles shared a quick look with Uncle Luke before addressing the Captain, "On what grounds was this warrant issued? There can't have been a thorough investigation to make an arrest mere minutes after the announcement of the Representative's murder."

The Captain was not fazed by her superior's questioning, "Investigators found the blood of the assailant under the fingernails of Representative Brandes. That blood was determined to be that of Luke Skywalker."

"But that's impossible. Luke has never even been within ten feet of Brandes, and--"

"Sir!" Torres interrupted, "I must remind you that I am neither a judge nor a jury. I am an officer of law and order under the Corellian rule, as are you. I have my job, sir. Take your evidence to the courts."

Antilles opened his mouth to argue, but Uncle Luke raised his hand to stop him, "She is right, now is not the time to argue about such things." He carefully moved his hand to his belt. Upon the entire squadron leveling their blasters at him, he raised one hand in surrender, "I am merely removing my lightsaber. I have no intention of any bloodshed."

Once the lightsaber was on the table, Uncle Luke stepped toward the squadron, both hands extended forward to accept the binders in Torres’s hand.

Ben moved to his uncle’s side, “Uncle, you can’t be serious about this. You didn’t do it!”

“I know I didn’t, you don’t need to tell me.” His uncle gave him a smile that Ben couldn’t bring himself to return, “And you all know that. But what you need to do is to make sure you can prove it to the courts. The sooner this mess is cleared up, and peacefully,” He gave Ben a very stern look, “The sooner we can return to dealing with Corellia and the Resistance.”

With that, Luke Skywalker, Jedi Master, Hero of the Rebellion, was arrested for murder.

 

* * *

 

If someone were to ask when the Resistance had allowed members of the First Order to join their ranks, no doubt not a single person would have been able to give a straight answer.

After all, Finn had been a kidnapped Stormtrooper, so did he count as a loyal member of the First Order?

Did Braeda, General Hux, count? After all, he had been a spy the entire time (though there was still rivers of bad blood over Hosnian that the spy would have to atone for).

And… no one quite knew when the defecting officers had crossed the line from “political prisoners” to “working members.”

Did it happen one day, as an engineer struggled with unloading a box of parts, and a tired looking prisoner asked “Do you…need help with that?”

Did it happen when one red haired ex-lieutenant went on a rant about the organization of the explosives kept in the arsenal, and promptly reorganized the entire arsenal by himself?

Did it happen when no one noticed any black-clad officers anymore because…they weren’t wearing black anymore?

Dopheld Mitaka wouldn’t have been able to give an answer any better than anyone in the Resistance, probably. But, then again, he had his own problems to deal with.

Namely, the dark visor over his eyes.

When Mitaka had first been released from Medical, he had been given the visor to cover his still sensitive eyes.

But that had been weeks ago, and he knew he wasn’t so much wearing them for his own sake, but for the sake of those around him.

Mitaka wasn’t an idiot, he knew he was a freak. Even though Rodinon and Thanisson and the others were polite enough not to point it out much, they still sent him curious glances.

At least their glances were curious, not the loathing ones he gave himself every morning.

“Daddy, why are my eyes different?”

_“You’re just…special, Dopheld.”_

_What a load of bantha-shit._

“I thought I might find you out here moping.”

Mitaka turned his visored gaze to Captain Arana, who was already making his way toward Mitaka’s secluded perch.

He didn’t know what to make of the Captain. The Keshian was… loud, for one thing. Loud and boisterous. The First Order had never had loud and boisterous before, it wasn’t encouraged.

Then again, neither was defection, yet here he was.

“I am not moping.” He muttered darkly, “Don’t you have things to do?”

“Don’t you? We’re all working hard here, kid.”

“’M not a kid…” The words were said mostly in habit now, not that the Captain ever listened to him. Bastard.

Arana snorted, “I’ll believe that when you stop acting like a kid.” He sat down next to Mitaka, “Come on, you’re up here, by yourself, wearing dark glasses in a forest that has limited sunlight. The only thing that would make this more of a teenage sulk is some sad music and a bottle of stolen whiskey.”

“I don’t drink.” Mitaka shot back quickly. Even the smell of alcohol made his stomach roil.

_Mommy was home late again, and she had that funny smell._

_Dopheld knew when Mommy had that funny smell, she would fall over a lot and say weird things._

_This time, she brought home one of her friends. She did that sometimes, when she came home from her parties. She would bring a friend home, and then they would giggle and whisper and then go into Mommy’s bedroom and lock the door._

_On those nights, Dopheld would go sleep in Daddy’s room, and bury his face in Daddy’s empty pillow because it smelled like him._

Mitaka blinked as his world became suddenly brighter, full of color and light. It took him a moment to realize that his visor was now in Captain Arana’s hand.

“Give it back.” He snapped, hand extended.

The Captain shook his head, “No can do, kid. You’ll only hurt your eyes if you keep these on when you don’t need them.” He pocketed the visor, “Besides, you need to stop hiding behind them.”

“I am not—” Arana raised an eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest, and Mitaka knew it would be no use trying to lie to the man. “I just can’t stand it… I look…”

“Kid, before you say anything derogatory of yourself, remember that you’re talking to a member of the same race.” He shook his head, “And if this is about the First Order’s whole ‘human supremacy’ thing…hate to tell you this, but you aint in the First Order anymore.”

“Clearly…” Mitaka muttered, rolling his eyes (and trying to ignore the utter headrush he felt at the gesture).

“And, let’s face it: we Keshians are on the tame scale when it comes to near-human races.” Arana continued, “I mean, when you take a look at the Twi’leks and the Togrutans, the Zeltrons and the all the other races, we’re absolutely boring.”

“Tell that to my…” What did Mitaka call his fellow defectors? Were they friends? They certainly shared a fellowship from their ordeal, but they were hardly…close.

“See, if you hung around base more often instead of going off on your own, you might actually get to see your…” The Keshian made an obsqure hand gesture that Mitaka was ashamed to admit he understood, “then you might be able to watch them get used to non-human races.”

Mitaka raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Oh yeah,” The Captain continued, “The other day, we all got to watch the red-head be a sputtering mess when one of our mechanics invited to drinks. It was awkward as hell as he had to explain to her that he wasn’t attracted to women, human or Twi’lek, but we got a good laugh out of it. Miue does not get turned down often, but that’s what you get from a blue-skinned Twi’lek.”

Mitaka blinked. He hadn’t known Rodinon was gay… granted, he wasn’t terribly close with his fellow officers, but the fact that the Resistance officers and crew were getting closer than he was…

Still…

“What’s so special about a blue-skinned Twi’lek?” He asked.

Arana grinned, wrapping his arm around Mitaka’s shoulder, “Come on, kid. Let’s walk and talk, and I’ll share all the joys of the plentiful and diverse races of the Resistance.”

He was going to regret this, he was sure of it.

* * *

 

Ian Thanisson hadn’t thought much about what his life would look like. From the age of five, he had been enrolled in the First Order’s Academy, and upon graduation, he entered his service on the Finalizer and then on Starkiller. He hadn’t thought about life after the First Order because… he couldn’t imagine any life besides the First Order.

Perhaps it was his youth and inexperience talking, but there had been a part of him that had just…assumed that his daily grind at the communications desk would continue like that for eternity. Perhaps once or twice he imagined promotions or reassignments, but even then they weren’t that elaborate.

He had been identified at an early age as an analytical thinker, suited for communications and data, not planning, creating, or imagining anything. And he had been fine with that, he wasn’t an elaborate thinker or a daydreamer.

And Thanisson was sure that, even if he had been the type to think of elaborate daydreams, he couldn’t have imagined himself walking around a Resistance base, trying to find a way to be useful.

Or rather, he was rolling around.

It hadn’t been a terrible surprise, when the doctor of the Medical bay had finally informed him that there was nerve damage in his spinal column. Those first few days, when he had been unable to move or feel his legs, even when Rodinon had fallen asleep on his legs and should have made them sore… he knew already.

There were ways to fix it, of course. But none of them were simple or easily paid for. And he could hardly blame the Resistance for prioritizing saving the galaxy over helping him walk again. Besides, all his life had been spent sitting at a desk, there wasn’t that much of a difference.

Thanisson had been rather touched by the young pilot who had tinkered together a mechanized chair for him out of spare droid parts, scrap metal, and incredible sense for design (though he did have to turn down the man’s offer to put rockets on the thing, he just wanted to get around).

So Thanisson whirred around the Resistance base with all the ease of a BB model droid (he suspected that might have been where some of the design for his chair had come from), asking where he could if there was any help he could offer. Since a lot of the work included heaving lifting and, well, standing, most politely declined his offer, and Thanisson would be on his way.

It wasn’t until he was circling several desks and computers that Thanisson noted that he was in the Resistance Intelligence room. If Thanisson had half a mind to return to the First Order, this would have been a gold mine of information to bring back.

He would never go back, he told himself, as his thumb gently rubbed against Jain’s ensign badge in its hiding place in Thanisson’s pocket.

Jain should have been here, he would have been able to tell Thanisson what to do. Jain had been the one who wanted freedom from the First Order so badly, and wanted it for Thanisson until he wanted it for himself as well.

Learning of his death had been… devastating, to say the least.

_“I’m so sorry, Thanisson.” General Hux, or the man who was General Hux, said softly to him, “I know you and Ensign Delteff were close.”_

_Thanisson could only lay in his Medical bed as Hux pressed Jain’s ensign badges into his hand. No doubt they were all that were left of Jain now…_

_“For what it’s worth,” Hux continued, “He died without pain.”_

_He had wanted to call him a liar, he’d wanted to point out that there was no way anyone could be without pain after what that Knight of Ren had done to them, that surviving that long after and then dying could not have been painless._

_But he couldn’t._

_Because he had also desperately wanted his words to be true, that Jain had felt no pain when he left this life, Thanisson’s life._

Jain may not have made it to life after the First Order, so Thanisson would have to figure it out for the both of them.

A blip on a nearby computer pulled Thanisson from his depressing thoughts. His eyes scanned over the familiar pattern of code and protocol, his communication training reminding him to commit what he was reading to memory.

_Dear Supreme Leader: Everything is proceeding as--_

It wasn’t until Thanisson realized that the officer working at the computer had noticed Thanisson’s presence and was staring at him warily that Thanisson himself realized, not just that he had been speaking out loud, but just how strange the situation was.

“I’m sorry…” He quickly apologized to the officer, “It’s just that, I’m a communications officer, I’m used to reading code…”

His mind stopped as quickly as his apology came. He was used to reading and decrypting code and information.

From the First Order.

Not something he expected to see on a computer of a Resistant officer.

“Where did you get that?” He whispered, confused.

The officer, however, only looked over above Thanisson’s head, and Thanisson had to spin his chair around to face General Organa.

“Is something the matter here, gentlemen?” The General asked, arms crossed over her chest. Thanisson had to note that, while not as physically imposing or menacing as General Hux had been, there was still a presence to General Organa that commanded respect.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, I just noticed the First Order code you have there, and… instinct took over, I suppose…”

“That is a top secret communique we intercepted this morning.” Organa raised an eyebrow, “You can read that?”

He nodded, “Yes…I served as a communications officer in the First Order, I know all the codes by heart.”

“So you can decode that?”

“Yes ma’am.” He nodded again.

She gestured for him to proceed, and Thanisson urged his chair forward to read the communique in full.

_“Dear Supreme Leader:_

_Everything is proceeding as planned. The Corellian problem is being overseen and dealt with as we speak. Skywalker already in Corellian custody, will be terminated when time comes. Kylo Ren targeted, will be recovered._

_The Resistance will not be a problem for much longer, I assure you._

_Glory and Honor to your reign._

_Revan.”_

Thanisson felt his throat squeeze as he read the words. “That can’t be right…Kylo Ren is dead…”

General Organa’s face was furrowed tightly, “I’m more concerned with the fact that not only did the First Order learn of out plans on Corellia, but that they’re there already and have my brother in custody, ready to kill him.”

For some reason, Thanisson’s mind only caught on one fragment of information in the General’s words. Skywalker was her brother? Well, that explained the fondness a bit better, perhaps…

But before Thanisson could dwell on that thought for too long, the General was turning to the rest of the room, “I want every pilot, fighter, and bomber gathered in the hangar in five minutes!”

A blonde lieutenant nodded quickly, “Yes General.” She replied before going to follow her orders.

General Organa pinched the bridge of her nose, and Thanisson wasn’t sure he was meant to hear her next words.

“I never thought I’d need to revive Rogue Squadron.”

* * *

 

_“Everything is going according to plan.”_

“Of course it is. We cannot afford anything but absolute victory at this point, Ventress.”

_“There is far too much at stake at this point to rely on a single plan.”_

“Stick to your next assignment, and our job will become much easier.”

_“You make it sound so simple.”_

Revan Ren couldn’t help but crack a smile at that comment, “Murder usually is.”

His blue eyes darted from Ventress Ren’s projected image to that of Malek Ren’s “As for you, Malek, the Supreme Leader has another assignment for you. I’m sending them to you now.”

The Monk barely acknowledged Revan with a bow of his head before his image blinked away.

Ventress frowned, her blue arms crossing over her blue robes and blue chest, _“Is that wise? Leaving only the two of us to handle this?”_

“The Supreme Leader himself commanded it, Ventress.” He clenched his fists, both his flesh one and his new mechanical one. How foreign it still felt… “I dare not question his wisdom.”

Ventress stiffened at that, insulted that he might imply that she would dare insult the wisdom of the Supreme Leader.

“Now…” Revan murmured, his flesh hand absentmindedly running over his scarred face before traveling through his hair, “It is time for us to prepare to strike. Luke Skywalker must die, and then we shall claim Master Kylo as one of our own once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this chapter is a bit on the shorter side, and not as much with Braeda and Finn and Poe, but I'm hoping to get more of them in the next chapter. And I'm happy that I was able to bring back some of my defecting First Order officers again!
> 
> And yes, the Knights of Ren are back in the picture, being pains of asses again!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you think in the comments, because your comments are my life guys!

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, it is a bit shorter than my usual chapter word count, but for this first chapter, I simply wanted to get things set up. And I apologize for the lack of Braeda/Ben action in this chapter, but it is important to note that this particular story is not simply their story, more players have their own paths that will be explored as well...but I'm sure I can work some B&B action in somewhere ;)
> 
> As always, let me know what you think, your comments give me life (not to mention loads of ideas on what to incorporate into the next chapters).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Wake Up, Sleepy Techie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6862501) by [Jathis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jathis/pseuds/Jathis)




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